Calamity on Common Soil

Coming back to a world I thought would be brighter.

I am never quiet.

Nor do I grieve on the accounts of nocturnal calamities.

I live happy and enraged,

defending my personal asylum like a lion.

Whatever is left,

after my passing,

is left with generosity. 

I left oppression and tell the stories of those who are still in its wake.

Prosperous little trees.

When all your fruit is gone you will see the perdition in the age of man,

where you may find one man with integrity among the thousands.