There will come a time when the hordes remember, who bound our grand-parents to the yoke of oppression, who sentenced our parents to deprivation, who bid poverty sink its teeth into our heart, who teach our children, greed is a noble art. Who sent our sons through the gates of hell to a litany of cambist brawls, crammed coffers with blood-stained gold while laughing in Ares' halls. "Who does these terrible things to us?" they will ask, and when they remember, they'll bring an energy that is endless to drive a fist that is fearless. Then this merciless market-driven world will crumble under an insurrection of integrity, the poor will emerge from the dark husk of capitalism to live in the light of social justice. There will come a time when the hordes remember.
THE HOMELESS. Tenebrous spectres, they exist, out there, on the crumbling edge of chaos. A father, a son, a brother, a daughter, a sister, a mother. Fragments of some shattered family structure; waste products from a society being driven to destruction by a hurricane of greed living a life that wears out life, dying, the devious death of exhaustion from existence.
A NEW DAWN. Today we live in a peace midst a thousand pygmy wars; a humanity bankrupt by its past dragged wearily through darkness and despair yearns for a day that's cast long, warm and fair, a dawn that sees humankind discard its class, its nation and prepare to grind outworn creeds to dust, so mankind naked is revealed, then moving with common cause, share what such a dawn may yield.
