How does one decide what is true and what is not?
Is it by how well it fits into a haphazard slot?
Is it by the design?
By the lacquered shine?
(A guise?)
Perhaps it is by sight,
Or perhaps the result of a childish fight.
Hearing?
Mirroring?
Listlessness?
Fitting a list?
Societal leanings?
Dictionary meanings?
(All that we despise.)
Perhaps hatred colors us,
Illusions might blind us.
But that's okay,
'Cause someone will see through it anyway.
They may be subject to ridicule,
Thought a fool.
Turned back,
Seen to lack.
Villainous to some,
Likened to scum.
(Such lies.)
Yet still they will seek,
And still they will speak.
Look past the fog,
Turn the rusted cog.
Climb sheer mountain sides,
Stand tall despite the ocean tides.
Find the missing screw,
Be one of the few.
Travel an unknown path,
Withstand all of the wrath.
(They will rise.)
You may attempt to push them down,
Only to look the clown.
For they are the leaders,
The succeeders.
And they will rise,
No matter how often you cause their boat to capsize.
Out from the ashes and soot,
Foot in front of foot.
So call them freaks and fools,
Weakling and tools.
They are far more than you will ever be,
The Darkness that fights against tyranny.
