Creative Destruction

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The relentless sound of battle
that resonates to the depths of this country
will not end there,
And our piercing screams of sorrow
like a jagged knife
will be heard without return of aid,
for this war is old news in all cities.

Everyone fears,
Everyone fears
the sight of red and the stench of death
whether it be destruction upon them or
destruction by their hand—and these masquerades
riddled with pretext, lies and malediction,
what is the purpose of it all?

But you and I—
in this path we have endorsed with certainty—
can no longer return to that place anymore,
and so we are not afraid.

For there is purpose to it all—
the sacrifice of some for the conservation of more,
and so we don these masks and embrace those lies,
for they are the only truth,
and these sullied hands will be tainted incarnadine,
in which the purest river could not cleanse.
For there is no justification to history,
the lost wars—they were lost by virtue’s hand,
and so we must not be virtuous.
The silvery shroud of twilight will mask our intent,
whilst the wind covers our reticent voices,
so that our fallacious glow may be perceived errant
from its true purpose.

Everyone hesitates,
everyone hesitates
to do what must be done.
In this perpetual maelstrom of fear
there is no sacrosanct light of knowing
to provide with us a dreamer’s ending.
But what must be done will be done,
and in this path we endorsed with certainty,
that is what we will do.

For virtue is a vacuous substance—
history knows not the meaning of honesty.
These masks we don, the imprecations we sound
are not to ravage these cities to dust,
or churn the waters into great rebellion,
for behind this game of masquerade lay purpose,
and in that purpose does true virtue hide.
Heaven is a dreamer’s fantasy,
those who cling are left in the stint of antique history,
But no, not you and I—
we will not deter the flow of time
and eradicate instead the obstruction
of those frivolous ideas
and in the disappearance of humanity will we lose ourselves
but in purpose we remain true—
this immaculate intent forever unstained.

Everyone is afraid,
everyone is afraid,
for hearts shatter in this sphere,
that is falling to pieces,
and the water that is churned into a maelstrom of waves,
cannot purify the stench of loss,
that consumes even Heaven.
But you and I abandoned that place long ago,
the place that cannot accept us anymore,
and so we are not afraid.





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