They said the pen was mightier than the sword, Marcus, but I suppose the jury is still out on whether the keyboard, or its virtual cousin, is stronger than the drone.
The hands that wield the words have changed…and multiplied.
Not all words are fighting battles, not all need to. Some just heal and assuage, some wander on far away trails like love sick monks, oblivious to everything but the silent symphony humming in their ears.
And some just float in complete denial like brackish lakes of human folly, the sloshing water finding its own pathetic level of convenient ignorance, letting reason settle at the bottom like coarse sediment, the surface reflecting a false blue sky that little darting gill-choked thoughts can neither imagine nor see.
I dreamt the night grew silken wings
until I saw the fallen raven
its lips red with morning