You raise your thoughts to the highest heavens, even though you are at your lowest. You drink of the wonders of so much written, yet find no merit to quench the thirst that is drinking you up. You hear more words, and see much more evils …
What should be, what should be?
The puzzles turn on and on in your head till your every thought becomes a mass of unanswered questions, much like wires turned loose.
You have stopped watching TV, you have stopped reading the news, you have struggled to leave the world. But somehow, the troubles still get to you. The news you refuse to find, the realities of the time.
You pick your pen to put into action once more that blood that bled so much to create weapons that left everyone marveled. You want to bleed out all the evils that have now become a monster in you.
It flows and you smile, but not for long as you find more of those villains coming to get your people. You discover that your leaders are complicit…
Then you go to Opi, kiss the junction and remember that one who wore the eagled insignia. You pick his mantle and make the sign of the cross.
Suddenly you realize you no longer believe that the pen is mightier than the sword.