Shining Freedom

Generations are but the leaves of the seasons. History is the chronology of vainglory and mortality. All that rises by the hands of dust returns to the dust from whence it came. The water of the living is blood and urine alike. So what?

A free man is not a man of the many. He is his own man. He is strong by his own courage and justified by his own sincerity. He is a friend by the warmth of his own heart. He is wise by his own honesty and thoughtful observations. He goes where he dares to go and does what he strives to do.

I care but I do not care to save the world. Though I dwell among the living dead I am not one of them. I am beyond the dust and water of the world. My life is friendship. I live that my friends may find me. Those with eyes to see shall see my light. Those with ears to hear shall hear me. The heart of the living shall always know me.

I am but one man but I am freedom and justice. Even in the weakness of my living flesh I am beyond the mobs of the living dead. My friends are beyond the many.

The few dwell among the festering many. Beloved few, do not fret the slobbering masses. It was, is and shall always be the way of the many to languish. In their torment they snap and claw. In their mindless hunger they seek to devour whatever they can snatch and bite. Their names and faces are but shadows of what it is to be human. For all their humanity of flesh and blood they are living corpses.

I imagine. My thoughts and feelings dream for me and give me purpose. I ponder what it is to be human. I seek and find what makes life worth living. I am not alone. The living are scattered but they are with me. I find their light in the darkness and feel their warmth in the cold. We are the living. We are the light and the warmth in this cold, dark world.