The Wandering Fear of the People

Come beast, you tyrant of images, crush me like you have done a hundred generations!

Now is the time, false snake, you are the differnce between black smoke and dark clouds, nature and industry.

I dare you, beast, walk upon my ground, at eye level with me, stare me down, until I freeze in my stomach, cold and icy.

I challenge you, a duel to the death, but the everlasting death, the death of eternal blackness, lack of light, lack of sound, smell, touch, to the death.

I am the seeker of false fear, and you, sir, are guilty in the worst way. Exposed are you by enlightened eyes, whose shine outlives the sun.

You have chosen poorly to creep into my vision, to let yourself be discovered, for I have come to crush the spreader of lies.

For it is you, deciever, whose house is the color of purity and innocence, whose badged minions carry guns in the name of peace, that I have prayed for wisdom, for selflessness; but to me and the masses, you have failed.

And though today, I am harmless, one of billions, I glow on in the hearts of the pure, the loving, the peaceful, the generous, the forgiving.

Inspiring the rebelion, I do indeed, that you yourself fear, oh dark prince, beast of beasts, you have met your match.

For the tiniest light penetrates the blackest dark, if only a little.