Rebellion

To sleep, perchance to dream of tarantism,
where vapid whispers hang in vapours
and volitorial secrets surge.
Wlatsome children breed paedocracy.
While those educated in intellect
not play-dough-tech
are the anile pillars of a puerile state.
A state of whims.
A state of illeisms – all names, no meanings.
The adult will cleverly express their hogra,
and plot
and
climb unwillingly.
He will get stuck and burn from izles,
see how it feels to get soot in the eye.
And then will come the pilgrimage,
of the dreaded epirot to the sea.
He’ll get his nexom,
he’ll lend you the tools of democracy,
and the directions to Sarodaya.
Because when it comes to your revolution
and the balance is restored,
you can offer yourself up to him,
because no material can pay back what he has given you.
The price of intellect is high, and freedom requires sacrifice.
So chain yourself to your gyve
and surrender yourself to faleste.
Because there is no price to high for freedom.