You know the sheafs of truth and justice
are not malleable, yet are like an eternal grassy
meadow; that swing to the winds of time,
but perennially stick to the earth, and have
a fire of the Sun in their blades! Those who
have lived to be immemorial edifices of duty
know that memory is not a forgotten misbegotten
place, but, itself, sets off a chain reaction. That all time is
a tiled floor and you are placed where you step!
Did I delve into so much ignominy to myself,
fearing it? My answer is a vociferous `no!’ I am unlike the man
who walked upon the waters and I am no fisherman; I walked
on terra firma, and fire, to proceed into an everlasting alchemy.
Not to become residual, but to become flame, and then,
ether, and yet, then, to subsist for you all. That you
deny me my nomenclature, and yet I walk in the worlds
that reach the point of civilisation. This civilisation,
that eventually becomes rotten through a misguided
infiltration, and seeks to defend its rot! No pure and
mighty leader, is free of the hijacking, however unwilling he is!
This is the sadness of time-bound state. And I only have
a compassion to free those who deserve to be free; and I
must also seek to protect all that deserve my love as well
as also all my hors d’art from that poison. Is it not an immensely
Atlassian task? Is it not a trial by fire for myself? And I also have
to shudder in the thanklessness toward my duty at hand. Yes, I claim
I need no gratitude, no acknowledgement, no recognition
and no vindication. But even Atlas can get so worn out at times,
overwhelmed by his task, that he may look for succour and support!
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