I'm curious to see your guesses...
They fault us.
They call themselves mothers and fathers and guides, and name us as their children, but we are not theirs to love when making dire mistakes. Jailors, I call them, for this is all they really are. The captors who decide what is wrong and what's right, who lives and who dies, and who will never even be allowed to be born. They have put us in cages, invisible, untouchable. Unbreakable. And we did not know that they were there; for when we touched we felt nothing, when we gazed we saw only void and when in anger- we could never even make a crack to allow us freedom. So we accepted the cage, and we named it as freedom for we did not know another way.
And we have not faulted them for they were our saviors and kings. They must have known better than us, we told ourselves in the nights. For how could they not when they looked at us with absolute conviction that their way is the right one? How could we doubt when they lived in the land of Heaven, and we lived scattered and alone in the ground of mortal souls?
We could not see past the illusion. We could not see past what we wanted them to be. We called them Light. For this is both what they represented, and the place where they dwelled.
Yet we have known all along that something was wrong. Our senses were smarter than us, and they usually are. We tried to ignore it, god is our witness that we have tried, for even we knew that some truths are better to remain as lies.
We tried to ascend ourselves, and to better ourselves, and become what they have expected from us. For we were their children, and we wanted their acceptances even in the cost of our selves. And we did not know that we were giving that up, we didn't realize, we didn't consider. Only in the nights, sometimes, when we couldn't sleep, the doubts would rise but we would smash it down like they were no more than a rebellious child. Or was it them that smashed it and we have learnt to call them ourselves?
We killed in their names and lied in their names and their names still were sacred for we have accepted our fear. We have not feared from them or feared for them, even for us we were no longer afraid; but of the world that rose up and shone as the seasons would pass and hunt us when we were most unprepared. For they created the world, they created the seasons. Yet they were the nature's worst enemy simply by being themselves.
We tried to walk in their way and to follow our own. To embraced their new rules and forget the ones the world has set. For law does not dwell here, in the kingdom of Heaven, even mother and grandma and grandpa agree. So why should we not fight when it is them who are fighting us, when it is us who are fighting ourselves, and even if we'd win- this is their victory anyway. For they have created us that way. They created us to win.
I told my brother that something was wrong but he only looked and wished to see heaven. And how could he not when the horns were so treacherously hidden, plain in sight- a gilded pedestal of diamonds and clouds?
"Don't look at the obvious." He laughed when I pointed at the sculpture and shuddered, and I seemed not to be able to convince him that it was he who was looking that way. Yet I could not fault him, even if I waned to fault him. Just like me he is human and we are making mistakes. The Elders can laugh at us if they please, let the sun itself show us that it, too, own her teeth. We would fight and would fail, fight and prevail, so were the words of the prophets. So they were my words. For they have called me their son. Their sun and their stars. Their sons and theirs daughters. So they have named us as people, a lie. Fathers are doomed to love. Mothers are supposed to be forgiving. For how else shall we learn compassion when they are showing us none?
So I stroke them and fought them and hated alone. As I have been all my life, as I have been in my death. Embrace me and call me, I asked them and yet they were laughing. 'Why should we brace you when you are but a wayward sheep?'
'Take from me wool! Lead me and feed me!' but they were not the war-words that I wished to tell.
"You will lose. Let it go." I am hearing a voice. "I cannot, my brother." I echo my truth. I wish that I could. I wish he could join me but my fate is to march on this territory alone.
And I tried to fight and tried to win. Poets will sing my name in wonder I was told in respect. But it wasn't be respect and they couldn't be shattered. Maybe only smothered by a pillow like a mother would do to her hated child.
"Be exiled from this place." I hear their words and regret my actions. Regret their words and remember my truths. It was worth it. Maybe. Nonetheless, it was done.
I shall go now to exile, I shall go now alone. Maybe there are other planes of being that will accept me as I am.