THEY ARE ILLUMINATED UNDER CHANDELIERS OF CRYSTAL AND LEGACY,
THEIR EYES UNSEEING BEYOND THEIR OWN KINGDOMS OF GOLD AND AVOIDED ADVERSITY.
THEY LOOK NOT AT THE CURSED LOT WITH THEIR STRAINS OF VIRTUE, SUCCUMBING TO THEIR DIAMOND PRESSURE.
THE FLASH OF A THOUSAND CAMERAS AND THE CHATTER OF A THOUSAND VOICES SHOULDNT AFFECT THEM,
BUT IT DOES.
EVEN TODAY, IT DOES.
HOWEVER, THEY SHOULD KNOW BETTER.
'WHISPERS THE UNIVERSE AND WHISPER, IT WILL;
MURMURING FOREVER THE MELANCHOLIC PROMISE OF TOMORROW.'
THE SOUND OF THE STATIC TV POST MIDNIGHT, ESCAPES THOSE JEWELLED PRISONS WHERE REST THESE PRISONERS OF WARS UNFOUGHT.
THEY TOSS AND TURN IN THE HAUNTING SILENCE OF THE NIGHT, THE CROWDS' WARNING TONES TURNING INTO NIGHTMARE FUEL IN THEIR SHELTERED MINDS.
WORDS ARE LOST ON THEM AND MANY ARE AT A LOSS FOR WORDS FOR THEM, BUT THEY ARE WHO THEY ARE,
CHILDREN OF A BLESSÉD GOD.
