When time stopped behaving, I should have known
that war was coming - perhaps, something worse.
Those who saw themselves sinless grabbed their stones,
and started chanting bile -- their wicked curse.
The hopeless cried with wide eyes, but in vain
as they were huddled around burning fires.
The best of us opted to go insane,
and build crude armor from old belts and tires.
We'd flank a castle that did not exist
like Don Quixote, tilting at windmills.
Better to charge a false monster and miss
than to have Folly chase one to the hills.
Who says it's worse to slouch to lunacy
than suffer the world's fury lucidly?