The gold idol sits upon its mountain
A thing of bone, bound by scrolls of aging law
Nailed together by spent bullet casings
Machéd by crimson stains of dried blood
Whether you worship this idol,
Or laugh at it as a symbol of the primitive times
Of your barbarous ancestors
Ask yourself then, whose bones built this?
Was it of your family whose remains
Were thrown into this altar?
As that thought passes your mind, take comfort
That you’ve nothing to fear but the terror
But know this:
The fear will find you.
-Random thought of the day