This Endless Struggle

Helplessness is when we can only watch as the days pass us by while we march to our inevitable decay, feeling like our fate is not in the hands of our own, our blood runs cold as our humanity dwindles with each tear shed and our ghosts try hard to forget.

Oh, who can hear us scream?

Who can understand our pain?

Who dares to say all we've been through is for nothing in the end?

Nothing has changed much after the empire fell, many prayed for the downfall of one, yet none can correct the mistakes of the fallen, history once again repeats itself, how cruel this joke is.

The people still suffer, living hollow existences, haunted by our dreams, death mock the years we endured walking while our spirits wander unfounded destinations.

A beacon of light lit with the promise of a bright tomorrow and change, but would it drown in the depth of futility?

Ignorance is truly a bliss, but would it stay the same under the reign of uncertainty?

Shaped by the intrigues of the shackle's indifference, would it not make sense to fight for our freedom rather than be confined for all eternity where resolution is a luxury?

Would you trust more the ramblings of a madman or the sophistry of kings? Or preferred more the teachings of the enlightened even if it would upturn everything you believed in?

All a fantasy really is, nothing more than the exaggeration of reality.

Truly matters not.