Preciptous Arrival Of The Ides

Preciptous arrival of the ides

The ides of March approached rapidly with great anticipation. 

Bestowed upon time’s constant perpetual dance, patience has no place amid the need to demolish the gnawing incapacitate that held ambition to a pause.

A revolution against cowardice, for the valiant never taste of death but once.

For what is known as a vibrant culture

There amongst resided two revolutionaries that contrasted this phenomenon.

One of them, with bold might, plot alongside the other.

Though their differing ages were apparent physically, their minds were all too similar.

The younger of the two swayed the elder, yet the elder not refused the sway of such delicious deliverance.

For, many centuries ago, there lived two. They staged their own revolt against cowardice.

The men of the past held their daggers high—

their shame nonexistent upon the knowledge of the enormity that the downwards thrust would bring

that they repeated again and again.

Modern times tell a messy tale—an interconnected, violent shout  pleading for the reassurance of  existence.

The people stand by; as they watch in bewilderment, unbeknownst to the sheer intensity that the two  reborn schemers promised to bring long ago.

The people squirm amidst the pressure of a shortened run.

All while the conspirators celebrate their shortened run with their own splatter to tell of the impatient rage that brewed so immensely within them.

The nurture of a larger state proved futile in the eyes of the already developed stubbornness that man hold so dearly

For the deepest betrayal never comes from an enemy.

It is not he who deals the first blow whose cut runs deepest.

It is he that picks his dagger of choice and lunges towards with great determination to leave nothing but a carcass of  what used to be

For every modern conspirator, a day earlier from the irreversible gash in time—one that will never heal to perfection.

Mankind witnesses the turbulence of the everlasting wound, yet seeks no form of darn.

Humility is forgotten amidst the heavy need to instigate and inflame even after such sullen juncture

Of the timeless dilemma of the fickle nature that mankind possesses, there lies contingency giving its deserved guffaw towards the mass of negligent existence who are so unconcerned by the unceasing consequences of the wound that remains far too stubborn to heal

Amusingly, the one entity who knows of the everlasting wound amalgamated alongside the conspirators.

Tedium mass tear apart the conspirator.

For his involvement, for his pride, for his audacity, and for his wretched bad verses.

Pluck his name out of his heart for he is far too mad.

Pluck, pluck—for the stinging reasoning of such acts is far too immeasurable, in its rawest form, to bear being recognized.

Mankind—all alike.

The siren calls of bliss lead to the depths of ignorance.

No greater than the other

Including the deviants that showcased their rage raw.

Each proposition has its counter.

No matter how far one attempts to shy away from their own liability.

Albatross gives its serenade of admonish for mankind to abhor.

But as the terrain of negligence festers,

The susurrations of the conspirators’ ring callous toward amenable assemblage

For the timeless wound remains—adamant, unyielding in its pandemonium.