Dignity and pride are my bones, love and faith, my blood. My skin is made of the teardrops of fallen warriors. My weapons are my words, sharper then any sword, more accurate then any arrow, and more deadly then any venom. However, my hands are beautiful.
They sculpture masterpieces, without sound they glide across paper. Without direction, they flow with honor in their strokes. And with trust in their holder, they do create.
My life is a book, filled with many chapters and characters, when some are clear and direct, other's were " casted vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate".
I will somehow, paste my name into the history books, for all to see my glory in a way none have succeeded before.
Instead of a war, it shall be replaced with unity, not death but a rebirth, instead of inplacing repression, freedom shall ring from the souls of every human being.
And on that day, it shall be known that I, the warrior without a name, was the one who began the revolution.
They sculpture masterpieces, without sound they glide across paper. Without direction, they flow with honor in their strokes. And with trust in their holder, they do create.
My life is a book, filled with many chapters and characters, when some are clear and direct, other's were " casted vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate".
I will somehow, paste my name into the history books, for all to see my glory in a way none have succeeded before.
Instead of a war, it shall be replaced with unity, not death but a rebirth, instead of inplacing repression, freedom shall ring from the souls of every human being.
And on that day, it shall be known that I, the warrior without a name, was the one who began the revolution.
The world spins, as it glides across the universe,
on a preset course to utter destruction.
We cannot fathom, or explain in religon or science,
the reasoning behind the devisation of eon's passed.
We are however, the building blocks in a story that
when at it's climax, our existance will become null and void.
In the truth, we trust our enemies to always be our enemies, though we trust our friends, for nothing.
in turn, we are not trusted, as humans we are, and
always will be the inperfecton on a canvas a
thousand times larger then our own imgagination.
What we grasp, is truth, but in our own form,
instead of the essence it is supposed to be.
Dare not to step into the light, spare a look into
the dark, where people are afraid to stare,
there are answers, that we seek, but are to afraid to find.
