The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers. (delascabezas) wrote,
The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers.

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in dreams gone by

In Sorrow's halls did soldiers sit,
thinking hard, on glories gone by.
What good is liberty and justice,
beneath a bleak and hopeless sky?

Foreign winds were unappealing,
and domestic weather unpolite.
What foolishness led the soldiery
into this backwards fight?

An age ago, the fighters thought,
their ranks would have been hailed;
pennants paraded, artillery cheered...
Where had their orders failed?

When General Greed and Corporal Interest
took control of all the battles,
these patriots, these soldiers proud,
became little more than chattle.

So it went, for many years;
"The Good Fight" always fought.
But those who decided "good" and "bad",
had morals which could be bought.

The leaders' hands were crimson-soiled,
their agendas dripped with blood.
Who cared of the life of innocents,
in the face of all the spoils?

Eventually, the general said,
to his henchmen, all crooked louts:
"Our way should be the only way,
lets stamp all the others out."

Then the end came crashing down;
away burned all the soldiers' sorrows.
Before their glances made it up,
their barracks became their barrows.

The day was won! Or was it lost?
By zealots, kings, and madmen...
For along with all the others,
the leaders also found their ends.

On bleakest plains of glass and ash
hell-winds sent devils out a-dance.
But in the wake of their stirring gait,
seed, sun, and sky found chance.

New hope was born, sweet rains returned,
the end was not as it seemed.
For what are endings, but new beginnings,
roaring on in tomorrows yet undreamed?


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