As the people stood at the precipice of madness,
as the tendrils of justice overpowered the land with ungodly strength,
so sat the man, held on high by a thousand hands.

On his left stood equality,
on his right stood freedom,
at his head lay a physics textbook,
at his feet lay a wooden cross,
in his right hand an AR-15,
in his left hand a bicycle lock.

As the cities blazed with the inferno of collective fury,
the people were rejoicing and wailing from within it,
their flesh a burnt offering to the man on high.

And he said:

“The blood of the world's enemies
shall bring it new life and succor.
The bones of those who sinned against history
will be timbered into a palace where only the good shall live.
The words of the liars will be twisted into truths
and become our new Bible, our revolutionary scripture.
So shall it be, for we are now True, Good, and Beautiful.”

And everyone,
the thousand hands which held aloft the god,
the million corpses, the sacrifices he demanded,
shocked by his words, they cried “who are you?”

And he said:

“I am of you, and of your enemies too,
for when words are gone,
and justice executes love and truth,
I am all that remains.”