High on a hilltop they stand like sentinels, twin silhouettes against the twilight that have stood a thousand years. And might possibly continue to stand for a thousand more silently watching, as they hear the asking of a million questions from those who have come; asking for guidance or for a solitary touch of grace, and being like those pitching queues for the gallows asking for deliverance from the hallowed.

For on another hilltop thousands of miles away a revivalist preacher tells the same old story, the one that’s been told at every stop he makes and never hears any of the questions asked. As he continues to give that same old sermon about everyone’s conscience being vile and depraved, and not being able to depend upon it as your guide with it being something hard to swallow.

But time has changed us all and still having our minds with that gift of free will, and there’s no real reason to follow what’s said in that sermon unless it’s what life has taught us. For there’s nothing in the world that says we have to listen to those answers to nothing; for nature gave us colours along with the day and night and the right to choose, with all at times being able to be said to those shadows on the wall. That have seen it all like the faces in those frames that hang there watching.

Like those twin statues on that high hilltop that offer no judgment or immediate answers to questions, or like that bright shining planet Venus out on the far horizon and being about as far as those answers. As I am now hearing the bells of the cathedral rung by what sounds like and iron hand heard across the valleys, and wondering if there are answers to be found to the nothing there too?

It seems as though the winds of change have gathered to blow wild and free, and those who we appointed as leaders just provide answers to things not asked, and have not heard the peoples voices for some time and it’s louder than they remember it being. As they claim that they are right and have the reasons to back up whatever plans they have made,

Just like that revivalist preacher with his tent up on the hill saying there are no mistakes in life; but then these people don’t really live or die as they just float with life being their pantomime, with most just staying the same and having only the names and faces change.

As it seems all the lines are being crossed with the breaking down of what is right and wrong, here in a world where most seem to end up losing dreams and losing sight of that guiding light. And most only wanting a reason for the way that things seem to be and instead given answers to nothing.

But what you got in you they can’t touch or steal it though they try, and what you got they can only try to manipulate or try and make you crawl when you want to run, as there no seems to no safety or surprise left, but better to die standing tall than on your knees . While time now seems like its beginning to crawl and occasionally hearing a drum and fife being played lowly like a dirge.

So stand tall again and raise a voice that’s heard loud and clear to challenge those answers they offer, and you better not back down, bend, or break in those complicated shadows if they decide to call you out. So walk tall and be cool, collected, bruised, and sensual, yet savage.

Copyright December 2005: Timberwolf International LTD.