The Songs of Ignorance



I looked deep in the mirror and saw an image. A dark figure, not my skin color nor my shadow. I saw chaos, an empty figure, darker than the void in the universe. I looked deeper and saw it clearly, a figure so chaotic, it sent a chill down my spine. Incomparable with any skin color on earth, and the void in the universe is no match to this figure. Darker than the heart of the "outcast", for there is no competition between the devil and this figure. This figure, blending his chaos and void in fire and clothing himself with despair. Dining with martyrs and suffering a cause and a cost he and only he brought to himself. Carrying a burden so big, the earth pities him and the heavens mourn him. Imprisoned in his own thoughts and bones, for there is no key hidden in the heavens, on earth or below the bosom of his mother that can save him. His feet are deep rooted in the ground, huge burden on his shoulders, chained with selfishness and misery yet his feet never leave marks on the ground for they are easily washed away by the mere wind blown by ladybird. He walks with no foot sound yet his chains of selfishness and misery can be heard in every corner of the earth. He comes in your life and disappears like a whirl wind, shines bright in your life than any brighter light on earth yet it's just a figure, a dark figure. His walking is incredible, moving from left to right, dancing in the shoes of martyrs yet so unbothered by the burden he carries. How incredible thou art, for his image and likeness are uncertain. Perpetuating truth and lies to win the souls of the unknown yet he is among the unknown. How chaotic thou art, how magnificent thou art. Swirling like a tornado around the hearts of any living female he encounters and vanishing like flurry winds. Causing commotion inward and outward, eyes glazed like an eagle, watching back and forth yet so unknowingly. Going above and beyond to find his secretes and meaning to his life, bothering ourselves with sleepless night and trauma, yet he sleeps like a lamb. Oh dark figure, playing among the pack of wolves yet so unbothered and unmoved. Martyrs pray for him, heavens mourn him and earth pities him. Heavens call him the wander one, Martyrs call him the lucky one, the unknowing calls him the knowledgeable one, the knowing calls him the ignorant one and the few call him the warden and the prisoner.

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