Duskloup

Bother us not about the dreary and tame; worry us not with monotonous claims. There's adventure afoot in our mind's eye so worry us not with reality's sighs. We'll write our own stories and create our own lands; we'll build our own castles and dig our own graves. In here, reason is simple and ignorance stays un-shown so we can shrug and simply say, "If only I had known." Instead, we'll lie and pretend we know more than we do, then nod and smile and jibe when we don't. It troubles us not that we want to be more than we are, but have no idea what that might means. In here, no pursuit is pointless and lives are void of gray, as we grant ourselves hushed desires to keep away dismay. It’s better to flout than explain what we can hardly name, especially when the world outside is scarcely the same. And so we'll go into our adventures, strong and bold and brave, as we build our own castles and dig our own graves.

I've never been to war but battle comes in many forms, of our words, for our souls, for this nation and it's people. There's many reasons for joy, though a surplus steeped in dolor, but one nation under God be not torn asunder. History is blistering with mistakes and victories, but listen and learn, the truth will be laid bare; not your truth but the truth of how and why we're here. Stand firm, patriots, with the colors flying high, and live unbound on our feet, be not coerced to our knees. I've never been to war but battle comes in many forms, for our pride, for our honor, for this nation and its people. Warriors bleed as Lady Liberty pleads for justice and peace, but in their stead comes peremptory impetus and beguiling hypocrisies. Be forewarned of distracting semantics and deflecting rationales, and be not forsworn so against those cast as foes that the cozens of deceptive lips bespeaking spurious empathy for all our woes, are granted lofty statuses so to rend apart souls

The mountains won't remember me when I'm old and gray and on my way to the grave. The mountains reach for the stars and all I have is stars in my eyes for all the lost times I could been grand enough to be remembered. But the mountains won't remember me when I'm laid beneath its feet turning to dust to feed the trees. And there under that giant's upturned gaze I'll lay eternal within its serene embrace.

It's strange, these struggles: the stretch marks of frustrations, the spasms of disappointments, the clenching grasp of loss and despair. From the beginning and to the very end, such troubles, when given to account, can lend to the gaining of strength and hope through the agonies of a veracious life. T'would be for naught, enduring the pain, should these troubles pierce a mind fortified by the strength gained while veiled in darkness and battered by rain.