A promise of a revolution.
My pursuit begins in this forest.
My enchanted path resides with those who are purist.
The depth of these nights.
Full of austere patience.
Resenting the spirit.
Retaining the hope.
Withholding the haste.
They Say Rome was not built in a day.
But that portal is….is beyond our creativity.
I’ve seen Architects pause and ponder.
Watched Engineers argue over such a wonder.
And the Physicists? Well this is their realm, but of an entirely different matter.
This century of progress has sewn the seeds of distrust.
Evicting , so we can build.
Killing, so we can expand.
Polluting, so we can shine.
Starved, so we can grow.
But heck, Dickens cant save our destiny.
Our prophecy resides in a world that can’t flinch from its broken glory.
The Portal shows that our failure is preordained.
But I must seek a way to fight our fate; to thrust ourselves from this puddle of doom.
We will not survive a world of bitter republics and shattered nations.
Where skeletal chrome towers are worshipped instead of congregations.
When, sovereignty means ‘Mine’!
And the collective doesn’t shine.
Nobody can sit here and tell me that this future is God’s design.
This portal offers grand omniscience.
Chronicling our mortality.
Revealing our third eye.
And with this blessed vision,
we can foresee our dark inhibitions.
So with this rusty Claymore and my leather satchel,
I will crush that window of modernity, that promises a world of peril.
The circus floats from Dublin to London,
Like a snowflake swimming amongst the air.
Searching for its white froth.
But eventually, all must melt.
Its intricate beauty shall not be allowed to disturb the minds of good men.
Its rotten purveyor will be seized, exposed and caged.