And when I awoke, just there, outside my bedroom window slumbered a dark giant. One of the over-throwers. An instrument of man's injustice, a symptom of man's penchant for self destruction. Yea, the giant, too, required respite..... A silent hibernation so that, when once more the spirit of hope rises high upon a gentle wind, fire might again course through it's veins and it's voice of thunder again might roar.
Now when I look out upon my valley I am reminded of my dreams. For the destroyers of old lie fallow, strewn across my fields, dull and rusted and insensate. The earth consumes them, slowly and carefully, lest they wake once more.
We few, who recognize them for what they are, need no longer eye them with such profound distrust, for the poisoners found new tools, new more powerful vicious instruments. Fear was adopted by the white-crossed arachnids as the great tool of regimentation and fear was the seed of fire which the over-throwers loved to loose, but it was Apathy, ultimately, which proved the more corrosive. So it was the song of Apathy which the poisoners began to sing.
Softly....
Sweetly....
A lullaby for the marionettes, the copper-tops, the bungled and the botched. A lullaby to glaze our eyes and harden our hearts and close our minds.
Not so long past, a man once showed me the scripture which reaches from here to eternity. I read of the words written and steeled myself for their fulfillment, a supposed certainty which miraculously never came to pass. Twas then that I truly understood beyond understanding that the words I saw were counterfeit. That prior to their occurrence no truths are etched upon that Testimony, that the words upon that ancient vellum are unwritten and unknown.
