An Inquisition of Sorts

If you’d but set my weary heart to waking I’d be yours.

I’d change my soul for a morsel of certainty that you hear me.

Instead, I brave the frosty night alone. An unlit candle in the one hand, and a flask in the other.

There are no vigils in this place. Maybe not ever again.

I’m yours still, but with agony.

The listeners, they speak with such discontent about the lives of others, but when they speak it is final.

Silent ears for a silent night, and red ink for our burial. Bathed in absence, coated in longing for reunion.

When east meets west, the light will shine.

East met West, and the light shone brighter than the sun.

Then they were whispers on the passing wind.

Overlooked, pain and sorrow make sense now, but let’s not get too hasty.

Forget the words of our fathers, we’ve transcended into the beyond place.

Light that candle if you wish, but if it’s you, we’d prefer you be gone.

We’d damn ourselves a thousand deaths before we took away the bread.

Give them bread, and they will follow.

Peace is War.

Give them assurance, and they will damn it into certainty.

Freedom is Slavery.

Give them chains and they will worship.

Ignorance is Strength.

Feed them, don’t pester them with freedom, it’s too sweet an elixir.

They simply can’t bear it. And you have damned them with it.

If you’d but give us a sign, some work of heaven, we would bow down

You’ve stolen everything.

We sought to erect three tents

You interrupted, and ruined everything.

We built them anyways.

Money.

We sought to shatter your peace.

Self.

We sought to shatter your people.

Enlightenment.

We sought to take your throne by force.

I wonder if you hear me, sitting in your Reichstag,

I wonder if you’ll remember our weary and departed

There’s no answer but one

and this answer

I sometimes do not like

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