Everything is already written
The pillars and walls have begun crumbling
And it wasn’t even the toll of revolt and outrage that broke the hold
The imperial guard is holding up the sky with their bare bloody hands thrust high
Clenching their breath
desperate for the sun not to set
Disparate not to be undone
And us below, mistook the straining for a breath of fresh air
A numbed desperation I remember well
The elders in us, the ones who have always been,
the ones who learned to tell the time from looking closely at their shadows
They tell of a time when the sun will set on the old kingdoms and empires,
when every crown finds its rust
they, too, have come to witness and relish in this momentous new sunrise
Finally, I too can see it
This, what I have always called real and reality was all a circus
shadows and symbols in a cave of illusions
curated with shiny cold concrete and metals that takes on borrowed meaning
Organised by the gleam of shiny coins and fleeting digits that become the new chains
Only this time we’re the ones trading our bodies for a subscription to the chains
Silently complicit in our own disease
So let the coins that once measured your worth scatter meaningless as dust
Unsubscribe the will that bowed to the rusted
Ours is to step into the new sun
Where our shadows might finally be free to meet the light
Finally free to see as birds do at dawn
that this light of the sun
has always come from deep within our very being
by Roomy, 14 July 2025