The intoxicating ride.
There’s something out there.
I think I see it.
No. Not dark.
That’s odd. Can’t be. Rub my eyes.
Loud. Still on the horizon on a gloomy day.
It has answers. Direction.
I don’t trust it so I move. Keep going. No time for this.
It grows quiet again but not for long.
Familiar. Part of my past.
Somewhere. Somewhen. Not my generation.
Red and black. That smell now.
Leather and gunpowder. Boots. Shining. Young faces.
Directed by a dream of purity. An old and tested fix.
A dream that recurs from familiar and shared nightmares.
The nightmare of not sharing. The fix of the scapegoat instead.
Beaten down. Rising again like a bloodthirsty phoenix. Stronger than ever and global.
Right on time.
Like clockwork when greed corrupts compassion. Distracts it. Makes it believe in demons as agents of angels.
The next generation of amnesiacs still slumbering.
It stretches it wings.
Ready to take flight from its high cliff.
Stirring up dust now. Blinding. Forceful. Drunk from an addiction of hate.
Who will jump to its talons for a ride?
How many will fall blindly leaping?
Sobriety of death for the fallen.
A wild ride with otherwise.
The ride is short.