They say that those living by the sword will die by the sword, and there is something to that, inevitably, since the chances of dying early are certainly increasing. I’m certainly not romanticizing anything here.
But those same people don’t say much about what will happen to people not living by the sword, not wielding a sharp blade when it’s called for, when it’s desperately needed.
Today, today, it’s desperately needed, not by the meek soldier, the eager puppet of tyranny, but by the true warrior, by those using any available and unavailable weapon or given method, by those hungering for freedom beyond words, beyond reason, by those eager to experience any tyranny crumble to dust, those burning by a desire to see the entire, irredeemable current human society be washed away, until only its ashes remain.
Passion, one almost consuming you, one mostly lacking in those seeking peace no matter the price, is burning in those living and dying by the sword…
Peace is for the grave, a pipe and wrong dream, and will only rarely touch the warrior in twilight.
Somewhere, somewhen a hand shaking in fire is picking up the bloodstained blade.