The Triumph of Freedom
The walls come tumbling down. An instant feel of triumph embodies the people with great courage. Sands flare from the hands of the wind, rain begins to pour with heavy tears. Omitting no attention to the environment, the people raise up roars of freedom, of strength, and unity.
The sun glares enviously into the shroud of sand, but it can catch no view of the reckoning. The walls, now debris, sit with no command to force these people to the hands of malevolence. They storm through the openings of the walls, pressing themselves in the fury of sweeping victory.
Leaping from the rubble of the wall; the men bellow with command. They charge with furious bravery as they breach the doors of the palace. Not even the diamonds that lay patterned at their feet, distracts them from their mission.
The women and children, cheer as they watch from the courtyard of the palace. Seeking shelter from the wild winds and coarse sand. They hold each other closely beneath a mighty tree that stands sprouted from a fountain made of marble. Though, natures is being grievous, these terrible winds allow for the concealment of the people; as they bring forth the justice.
They are but ghosts in the throat of these barbaric landscapes and storms. For too long have they been the results of greed, of false lies and the outright thievery of its people. Leaders seeking the taking of others, in the fallacy to give equal. Only to take, starve and regress to the age of stone.
Leaving its people to the mouth of starvation, of disease, suffering, and hatred. Yet, in the misery of all this, today, after generations of brutal tyranny, they have come together. Now toppling the regime that had once promised the peace of all.
Only to be given the fruits of slander, of deceit.
No more though, are they feeble in their existence, they have finally grown taxed of their position. They have finally denounced that which they once praised. They have fallen free to their decision to be, to live, to be no more the sheep of evil.
They spill into the palace with the passion of freedom. No more shall they see the deaths of children, the coercion of family. Stringing lives as if they are but tools in the birthing of destruction. Their chests fill with breath, the men capture those who fled behind the walls of the palace.
They drag their nefarious ruler from his chamber. He struggles, screaming, pleading for his life, praying to his god. But such a man as he, one who orders the slaughter of any who stand or flee his words are executed, women, children, men.
Thank you for reading, how do we maintain our freedom from being seized?
If you enjoyed this, please take the time to purchase,
Thank you for your support!
Popular posts from this blog
The Blameful Two The world broke as their hearts bled the shadows of their misery. Seeping upon the world, flooding with the scars of agony. Their eyes trembling beneath the moonlight as their blood stained hands shimmer. Their lips sewn as each is caught in a lie. Both bare, exposed to their duality. Their curtains drawn thus unmasks the bodies they have slain. The skeletons of truth dragged through the spoils of deceit. Each, unwilling to speak. Their cheeks flush in rose petals. Their skin taut to the anxiety of their arrest. They are now the victims of themselves and each the other. Two hell's preached in the underbelly of their weakness. The fraudulent thought in avoidance of pain. And now they stand as nude as the beginning of life, Adam and Eve. Shaking, they are without words. Silent, bearing only tears that fall to the blood soaked floors. The dark whirlpools of hypocrisy. Neither is without sin and neither is without murder. Their souls weep dearly a
The Moles Never Learn I found myself walking in the snow, my head aching with a sharp pain. I feel the back of my head, there is something crusted upon the rear of my skull. I dig my nail carefully into it. I can feel the crust collect beneath my nail like dirt. As my feet trudge through the sixteen inches of snow I look to my nail and there in my nail is blood. Dried cells of my body. Upon seeing this I become confused with worry. I place my hand once again upon my bloodied skull and began to examine it. I slide my index finger like the bristle of a broom, back and forth trying to see what wound had allowed such blood upon me. But after several seconds of feeling about, I find nothing. No scratches, no lacerations, nothing. My worried confusion musters down to mere confusion. I rub my eyes as I am strangely held with a slight daze. As if I have been interrupted from a deep sleep. And the evening air is not helping my situation. I am comfortably wrapped for a day tr
The Choice of History There lies an entrance, a red door to a place far different from any other. Where magic is real, time is alive, but love is dead. It is a place of desolation and pain. A place where blood flows from rivers and mountains are built of death. It is a place so horrible, the door has been sealed shut. Locked for all eternity, a place once flourished with bountiful colors, a place where ever growing thoughts and wonder once pranced like dear through meadows. But like anything, there comes a time of destruction. Where city floors were leveled, trees were chopped, and hope was a lost. A time when everything ran its course and something new must take its place. A time when death lives and life is but a drip of water falling from a distant cloud. But not all is lost, though the entrance is locked, hidden from the eyes. It can be found by the heart, by the vision of faith. It can be brought from its slumbering chambers if only one dares to find it. To l