Herein Mankind Is Deviltry

What strange manifestations we find ourselves, staring back at our reflection within some shining glass. Randomly chosen we walk along some sidewalk, aware of our shortness against the mighty buildings’ stature. Everything seems pink in the sunset, but it’s truly our wish of heaven and that we could peak our due paradise.

What now, swaddled in cloth and burdened under winter, I am as pressed to ascend this dreary mourn as he. Day in and day out the weariness turns into exhaustion, and the level of strain upon my eyes grows deep. Nothing can bind my goal to eat, and win the pious day of the honest working man. Who could not hate the deviltry of fairness, of ambition laden with a venomous grasp?

Whom shall I target my wrath, for not getting my way and making my quick fortune? Shall I swear upon one or a kind, and make this wrath my war herein mankind? But I am not man and thus the rules of thine are tempered. And so I rise on heavy wing and screen those distasteful, making enemies thence in my gaze leading their fortuitous demise.

If anyone is my king it is also I, as none could found my spirit in thus, my own candering lust. So I crunch this kindling fire, blazing thereafter my empowering score. Hence I soar my manifest bastion, freed from my encumbering remorse.