Petals fall from the white rose encased but ignored left on loop but no one is there to watch the rewind meaning it’s hollow not empty still, like rats’ feet over broken glass no more to start or stop a revolution or war.
Petals fall from the white roses marking graves of fallen soldiers who tell their story of glory after death words spill from a curator’s lips or a historian’s pen tip tales of heroism what brutality fighting for peace, wisdom, clarity against another mind to somehow find it within one’s own.
War has been on my mind as it so often is when I find myself waiting in fatal quiet reality augmented by the furtive hive mind observing and denying battles now fought in sedated silence behind television screens behind cell phone screens the ones woven through our own digits stiffened and stuck to lite brite pointillism.
White roses bloom in my smoke-filled room red petals litter the floor grey petals fall from the ceiling ashes in graves and washed on shore and what does it matter now hope is a word said nevermore hope is a word bathed in doubt so trade for belief and see wish for a deep faith to be the peace already in you the love already in me
I heard an opinion like the white rose, inoffensive neither right nor wrong simply an idea made tangible by a horrific co-creation of present reality present time an indian-given gift an offensive slur cancelled at the last moment – free speech no more.
Forgetting that to offend is a mind-made act a self-made attack complete control given to the red queen whose only goal is to hang the noose about your neck and wring the pennies from your purse yet it’s just the dream that is your curse.
Now prick your finger on the white rose’s thorn made empty in parts by how you define your relations with the world you find outside your front door for all is your mind and our history written from one point of view always makes ignorant all but a few
I want to recommend Terry Goodkind’s Sword of Truth Series (of which I’ve read the original 11), bringing special attention to my favourite in the series, Faith of the Fallen.
Never have I read a fantasy, nor any novel for that matter, that sticks so fastidiously to upholding the honour and value of truth, logic and reason. There is a strong case for Goodkind’s argument that his books are not fantasy due to his honouring human nature before the fantastical elements. The magic he introduces is very natural and works with the humanity of his characters, never against it.
And let’s talk about the hero: what a dream! Meet Richard, a humble woods guide turned wizard as he discovers the truth about magic, the world, and who he actually is, The Seeker. His nobility is uncovered throughout the series which is a marvelous allegory of the complicated struggle between good and evil. Through the development of the protagonists, Richard and Kahlan, we see how they work to restore peace, balance and truth to the world.
excerpt from Faith of the Fallen by Terry Goodkind
Goodkind’s series is exciting, dark, light, easy to read, and masterfully crafted. Despite its criticism, I have fallen in love with The Sword of Truth series and especially Faith of the Fallen.
I first read Faith of the Fallen over six years ago. In particular, this installment touched me because of the strong parallels it draws to our present bureaucratic quicksand, governing hypocrisies, the hopeless despair and laziness of modern man, and how, in the end, Richard moves people to take action to free themselves from their own enslavement. As the back cover describes, the book really is “a novel of the nobility of the human spirit.”
Freedom requires effort if it is to be won and vigilance if it is to be maintained. People just don’t value freedom until it’s taken away.
Terry Goodkind
I’m sitting down for a re-read right now! How are you spending this glorious sunny day?
For the first time in history We have lost daily danger Robots doing most arduous work Steadfast protection from perceived external threats
So we no longer fight to live Turning our choices over to untrained professionals Motivated by momentary monetary gains Unhappy lacking distraction in still moments
We interchanged dogmas So we can scoff at virtue, instead Worshipping power and profit strawmen Spiritual faith exchanged for political cocksucking
We are no longer compelled to fix ourselves We are machinery now repairable with medication Our bodies broken before birth Necessitating genetic modification
We manipulate nature’s randomness We have erased beauty because man perceives Chaos where nature reigns pure and cyclical Revealing the path we walk now is narrow
The Halfwit Writer 