The ever powerful fist of ascendancy
Boiling the pots of our splendor
Cringing the ripe patter and clatter of adolescence.
brainwashed with honor and conditioning with servitude.
A simple yet braised attempt to control the future of an empire.
no, Republic.
simplified chaos, bright as day.
withering ever so slowly.
with cold hands and colder hearts they dig in the mounts.
frozen and piked.
bicuspid points of origin.
the ice is not crystallized in the warm bloody arms of the digger.
as time fades.
the stresses of modern life flow to it's nearest shelter.
the catacombs of the human mind.
the bowels of our most well kept secrets.
the myths of our mentor's disgrace.
can fate be so bewildering.
is our fate what we create?
or can the truth outline the the results?
the one who holds the pen.
holds the power.
the one who has the sword upholds it.
right is the status quo.
we all fight for it.
but who makes the choices?
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