My Fallen Hero
Sitting on my window and looking out through my door was all I could do from walking into my chair.
The paradox of the hierarchy has become the mediocrity of the dancers when illusion is their vision.
The sound of the owl in the daytime is the irony of the nightmare in the afternoon.
Short was the scream and fatal was the fall. Sudden was the end of all that I had hoped in.
There was a handwriting on the wall and the meaning was hidden from all but the eyes of a child with no voice to tell.
But with time, the wall spoke and all heard but the child. Because the handwriting had completed its course and the child was gone.
The giant monster invaded and the weak dove was caged because busy were the eyes to decipher the code on the monster until my hero fell and great was the fall.