The following piece was inspired by the utter sadness on display within America today. If you are not moved to action by children torn haphazardly from their families, then you are, no doubt, a wilted flower; the very same people who welcome this madness.
Time is tick, tick, ticking away. How many souls will I capture today? Will they be a challenge or will they be given? Only time will tell as the clock keeps tick, tick, ticking. Your god has arrived with enough hatred for y’all, with enough evil for the big and small, so come one, come all. I will shred your souls and place them in my satchel, call you a settler and make you my peddler. Come one, come all, come stand behind your god. I will lead you into the darkness of Earth’s end. Come one, come all, my wilted flowers, come claim your title, speak out and cheer it. Come one, come all, let’s have a ball, my wilted flowers . . . Sweet, Unconquerable Spirits.
If you are not moved to action by children torn haphazardly from their families, then IT has already placed your name in ITS satchel, called you a settler and made you ITS peddler. You are one among ITS legion of unconquerable spirits, in Hell; entirely oblivious to the fact that the children screaming for your help WAS your pathway to Heaven.