Born in virtue, the will lies dormant. Comforting hand shelters from horrors of doubt. As a shining armour. As a living shell. The sense and the structure preserved in ages. True revolution comes from true repulsion. This road is paved with splintered bits of justice, ridden with denial and strewn with ashes of angels, with none to lead the path and none to guide to save shores. A war is being waged within. To choose who stare straight in the sun no man shall see and endure. It takes great diligence in methodical erasure to pierce the very core of culture, and only after the monuments are crushed it turns out the pedestals were abandoned. To those who defy the truth hell pales next to the fileds of astray. True revolution comes from true repulsion. Its a land of plenty yet no waters can quench our thirst. Contrition and repentance seem like bitter sarcasm. This is the point where tragedy and irony are dissolved in apathy. Perdition is at hand. No apokatastasis. The sense and the structure lies of the fathers.
repulsion, true, structure, apokatastasis, fileds