Perhaps it is the fate la lucha to break through the wall of intolerable rudeness and uncouth cowardice with a help of atrocious revolution. When the body is inflamed by almost a rage, when dysfunctional judgements make it worse, and emotions only seek to break the shell of stability, tear the calming and comforting straight jacket - where am I to look for cure from anger, from wrong choices and their consequences?
There is self-indulgent beauty, like a rose, or like rosy fiery flower whose petals burn, and whose sharp thorns will dig up wounds in your skin, deep and unheeling. Why would one pick it up, why would one desire to hold it?
There is a self-absorbed person, like a daffodil, or like a yellow flower with a golden touch to it. It doesn't pick it's head up, won't look at you and ignore your calling.
There is a coward, who is either one and neither one. Whose promisses are golden yellow, and whose lies ignite firce rage.
And there's a human vulnerable enough to confront this. And when running away, cowardly, proudly, beaitifully from his wrong hope all he gets a comfort of a frozen seat.
