Oh how cruel;
to see the sea behind bars,
to be stolen and broken
for a war on consciousness-
that far precedes my pain.
When you become the victim
of a victim-less crime
a disease runs thick and cancerous
in the current of the mind.
Alone we are prey,
easy pickings for the wolf,
for the hunter of the pack
for the knight who rides with the Lord,
for the barbarian equipped with The Law.
Faithless and shackled.
A book without a page,
a forest without a tree.
A soul without a soul.
One last breath
in a world
choked by madness.
Our place of solitude
has been turned against us
leaving us
scattered and unsettled
like
dust in the wind.
About the Creator
Zeno Antonius
a rider on the storm
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