There it is,
the sweet limn
of destruction,
    which              absconds
from    the naked  eye,
       and which      arbitrates
   of                wits to obstructions,
that      one    may perhaps           not
                find   themselves
   safe       while    the     sun  
           hazels     over       the       cliff,
   over            which     the  
         shadows      reminisce       their
dubious           feats.      And
          how        must 
the good counter       them?
     For   are they
     not    a   foe
to       the benevolence of mankind?
                         Are   they not
the reason     for this   jeopardizing    circus
             of addiction and obsession and connection?
And    do we not         need
     to   draw our       sheathed   swords
                from their                             heaths?
Lest we
        wish
to     let   them win and brand their
pride over our foreheads
like empty vessels.
       No,
I will draw this diamond
sword from its' heath
and I will find myself
amidst the battalion of the right.