Empires Fall
Empires fall, by the blood of friends.
Monarchs die, by the blood of friends.
Systems collapse, by the blood of friends.
Revolutions are pain.
A bullet in the back of the head for a select few, followed by starvation and desperation for millions more.
Oppression will inevitably return. The strong will rise. Self appointed kings by another name.
Hiding atrocity behind their new morals.
Hiding greed behind their new distribution methods.
Different faces.
Different words.
Same results.
Public privation.
Private ostentation.
They will tell us that the revolutionary heroes are to be honoured, but not replicated. That the time for violent action has passed. That we need to solidify our gains.
They will tell us that we are in it together. That in order to rebuild, we will all have to work. That our blood, sweat and tears are to be the mortar of the future. That our bodies are to be the stones.
They will glorify our sacrifices. A mass indoctrination of self-flagellation for the state.
Our pain will be our pleasure.
Our bond to the revolutionaries of the past.
Our holy pilgrimage.
Our right.
Our duty.
Our purpose.
We will police ourselves. Pulling down any and all who even so much as attempt to rise above the norm.
Equality of outcome for all.
Yet we will simultaneously accept our new leaders’ lavishness.
For they are men of action.
They are keeping us safe.
They are the bull front of the revolution.
They are the shield of security.
They are the sword of justice.
They protect us from the other.
They convert the heathens.
They spread the revolution.
They show us how our sacrifices at home will lead to our success globally.
They tell us that empires will fall, that monarchs will die, and that systems will collapse.
We just need to make more bullets for the backs of the heads, and more sons to put them there.
We just need to work more.
We just need to eat less.
We just need to sacrifice.
Revolutions are pain, and empires will fall.
This poem is from the book Bound To The Wings Of A Butterfly
