The days are long. The nights, even longer. My eyes are burning. And, my mind is weary. I am walking. I come from a land of grey colored clouds. But, it did not rain there. For, if it rained, it could have washed away all the sweat drops on my brows, the dust on my feet. I am trudging along this path now. A narrow path, broken in places, weeds have spoiled the marble railings. Remnants of glory days from a past? May be, yes. Whose past was it? Yours or mine? May be, ours? I do remember these paths, the railings, shining white, the elegant and assuring woods…But, I know not this place, this ghost town. Dead faces speak here a language I speak not. No soul here, no kind eyes, and wise hands. Our fathers have retired to a place of seclusion living the life of a recluse. We cry and pray in these troubled times.
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Our fathers give us the sword of patience. We carry it. I carry it. I carry it under my wings. And, I walk. When evil nights descend, I hold my sword tight. Green thunders blaze across the sky. I burn. Killer knives pierce my heart. I bleed. And, I BLEED RED.
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