Ironic

The un-spoken words, the language of love, flying fancies, dreams of a new life, childish desires that might just survive a river of hate and doubt gushing all around tearing souls and I a refugee am taking flight. I hide from an enemy of two faces, one a reflection, other a guise. I run and run for I know a fire is coming to sweep all the little flames, a king is coming to whom all these imposters will bow and a judgment that will be passed upon all. And as I sit in the shadow, I see the time of tyrants is at an end for the last victim is dead but still they thirst for blood and now they will eat each other until there will be only one, once more a victim and a world will be born of him of tyrants again. I am the watcher and I have seen slaves breed their masters and victims carrying on their heads their persecutors. This is the justice of the plan; this is the irony of life.