the bad seed, the black son, left home to early and never came back, pressured to be some lawyer on the thirty seventh floor of some building but changed path when destiny called, the random winds of chance change and chaos blew him in twelve different directions where the shards of his spirit followed divergent paths only to converge and unite here in this very moment, singularity.
he has returned into the place whence he came, the swords of sarcasm, the bitter fruit, the seeds of doubt and fear, the empty loveless void, the shame, the guilt the hate. he has no shield, no sword, no army, here there is no protection. raw exposed he stands tall remembering his lessons, his teachings, his spirit. he tries hard, like kanut attempts to stop the tide, he is working against mighty forces, oppressive and destructive energies batter and assault him, sometimes he feels he is loosing his mind, the battle, the war and sometimes he feels a sadness to deep for tears, sometimes he tenses up ready to flee the overwhelming enemies of fear and ignorance but he has one weapon that no one considered. he has died many times and lived again and he remembers them all.