The Descending Fog
It is not the misadventure of accidentally falling in.
Or the fear of being pushed in.
It is the normalization of staying in.
And losing the courage to climb out.
When nothing seems worth the effort.
We keep our secrets and despairs silent.
And foolhardily flout stupidity as optimism.
A leap of faith.
A whisper on a breeze.
A gust of wind.
A beam of light.
The disparities of wealth and power,
Have enabled growth-based failure.
What is mine,
Has prevented us from taking urgent action.
On the significant global issues.
The first impact on the biosphere.
The second impact on the biosphere.
The third impact on the biosphere.
The fourth impact on the biosphere
Aura Sylle and Tartarus
These doors open to the deep abyss.
To the land down under.
Where a royal corrections corporation kick-started a nation.
For more profit.
With bonuses for doing better.
Proving yourself acceptable.
With space to innovate.
Within an over-incarcerated population.
The distress of the unknown
Tethered to aspiration
Our capacity to accommodate new experiences
To gain prosperity
The anxieties.
The fear
The panic
Empires employing strategic savagery
By whipping up emotions
Enabling political disinformation
To exploit with power
From One Portal to the next Hole
Imagine traveling.
From one portal to the next hole.
Perpetually recreating social divisions.
For reasons of power and profit.
Acting no differently.
From any century to any other millennia.
From the traditional Sunday drive to a once-in-a-lifetime space voyage.
Never really escaping the fear of continuous disruption.
Even when foraging on an opportunity.
And even those unregulated.
Who feed on the deadwood.
Aura's Portal
Godly firmness.
Solid and incorruptible.
Earth's protective shield.
Of mannered greatness.
There is a portal.
A looking glass.
Which forms.
At a point in time.
Where formality and ceremony can converge.
Through which
Only the slightest breeze can travel.
In the form of gloriously beautiful light.
To accompany Aura.
Through the nothing.
Be nothing.
Under her command.
Change yourself.
Moving along.
And proceed as orderly succession.
To incessantly hunt those things.
Those that are not as they should be.
Down to your own demise.
Fallen and Weaponised
Our attempts to regain paradise.
Disregarding humanity warnings.
And the anticipation of pathos.
Communications constrained to political cliché.
And powerful abilities to monopolize.
The determined playing field is prepared.
For the
Civilian deaths.
Torture.
And assassinations.
The justification and cause are set.
Those who question are placed on the fringe.
We have fallen from a great height
From this height.
The greens look greener.
The shadows are darker.
The streets are uncongested.
The city is empty.
But still, we chose to fall.
Circe Shadow and Forgotten Histories
If the tales are true.
And what is known is unsettled.
All of the unconsecrated burials.
And the bastard children holding.
Are not forgotten.
Under the crushed to modernize.
The inhabitants still return to roam.
No matter what drugs and incantations.
Are deployed.
To hide their original shape.
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