How is it that revolutions invariably sputter to a halt and become merely a perverted caricature of the ideals that inspired so many to give so much and die much too early. And leave the survivors with a sour taste in their mouths and heartbroken; even jealous of the heroes who sacrificed all in the belief that the revolution would triumph and change the world.

Time after time after time: a plot written, a stage set, a foregone conclusion it would seem.

To what purpose? To become bitter? Or deny reality and wave the faded flag forever?

Or find the lesson in the script…

The lens once used to view without,
separating light from dark and righteousness
from evil,
has grown cloudy, only
reflecting dimly back on me.

Discovery
the world around me
is but a projection of myself
my fears and joys,
and beauty
and shadow, darkest shadow

Just as the moon
is a reflection of the earthly realm,
revealing

Revolution
is a personal journey

as that which inspires to action
is but a clue
to that needed to be rooted out
deep inside

to grow
or fall short
and die
inside

as Causes are but the two sides of the same coin
with both sides feeding off and strengthening the other
until victory and defeat are indistinguishable,
leaving only lessons.

The cross to take up
is my own,
the evil to defeat
is my own,
the freedom to be won,
mine as well

because

Liberation is a state of mind,
on the path to Redemption.

Revolution or Death!

rab 2/27/25

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