“The role of the artist is exactly the same as the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.” ― James Baldwin
You were given a land—
A time, and a place—a space
that was yours. The stars colluded for you—
Hid away your stunted heart. You
slaughtered the Wise child in mirth, and
inherited a—kingdom of the dead. The dead
worked tirelessly under heavens eye—
seeking a crown— a reward buried beneath
greed. I lifted my mask, and Saw them
awaken. I saw a key vast, and of heft as it
turned a lock. Now that land— time, Oh
precious space comes to ruin. The same
stars who rose you from among— the
grain forsake you. Piety chains you to the
collapsing pillar.
I write in order to see more clearly, and sometimes to remember what would otherwise be lost.
“In our dream, we have limitless resources, and the people yield themselves with perfect docility to our molding hands. The present educational conventions fade from our minds, and unhampered by tradition, we work our own goodwill upon a grateful and responsive rural folk.
It is a universal truth of common knowledge that Light is to repell darkness. Yet the fool cannot find the switch, the content will not reach for it, and the dilligent who seldom lifts his head from the nauseatingly repetitive drudgery society calls work would prefer to continue on his path than to change his enviroment. If man is not fit to be his own master then another shall assert that responsibility on himself. I have been vexed to see many men both near and far of such stature. Therefor the common mans actions show him in alignment with such a system but his desires are fixated on returns his actions will not permit.
I write in order to see more clearly, and sometimes to remember what would otherwise be lost.