The gold idol sits upon its mountain

A thing of bone, bound by scrolls of aging law

Nailed together by spent bullet casings

Machéd by crimson stains of dried blood

Whether you worship this idol,

Or laugh at it as a symbol of the primitive times

Of your barbarous ancestors

Ask yourself then, whose bones built this?

Was it of your family whose remains

Were thrown into this altar?

As that thought passes your mind, take comfort

That you’ve nothing to fear but the terror

But know this:

The fear will find you.

-Random thought of the day