Libyan

I’m impartial, whether ye speak of the Gods or our society. We’ve conditioned beggars in our outskirts, making trivial their demands as survival becomes us greater men. The nobles whom are troubled by its frivolous mass implore us others, a gentle populace sat upon a crown or barge afilling glasses. Such is luxury begot us savages, held over pivotal matters of comforts and crass. Much as we are false and men are poor a greater tryst’s ahead. Between the Gods are seen in thine advantage, enabling their trespass unto man under cover of all I’ve said.

Beneath the watchful statue is mine assailments, and herein this land is vaulted. Startled by this malted mercy overall our city’s led. Its bold abstraction blinds our privilege, a proven tedium torn in our asylum. How am I to relish in chaos, a veritable string of bias slandering my assumptions? This grotto of alarm is centered in my chest, whence a spear cannot enter unimpeded should I bare all in my confession.

So I set out, uninfected from the grime of lore outnumbered. The lessons of longevity crave release as I spray my blood endearing my former prey to me with mine strength. Hath its mighty army put forth again such solace, thence I was a man. Surfaced from my horrid vagrancy from a civilized ambition, engendered such goodness as hope would spike me. When I became a weapon for this size of pity became a glacier, and until then I never spied the true sun.

I am called now, somehow afore my weakness, Libyan, standing for our freedom let of my gift.