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The paradox of blood
"Could we not glean from decades of crimson tides,
Enduring a ceaseless, haunting journey in time.
It's not the blood that stains, but hate we bear,
No agony to endure, just the ethereal air.
And on the throne of power, they quietly prepare,
Divine hands, rulers of the collective share.
From 'Divide and Conquer,' to 'Define and Empower,'
Conflicted souls and silent cries they devour.
Within the Enigma, where hatred flows,
Youth adrift, within the runaway tech's grand shows.
Those to whom the future we entrust, we implore,
Yet, like blind sailors, we navigate the virtual shore.
In a sea of data, no sky, no wind's song to implore,
Only a compass, pointing where north exists no more."
© Malek's
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