What drives the Left but an insatiable lust for power? To bend man to their ends, to reshape, remake, and reeducate the reactionaries, the retrograde, the masses. Always to be fused into their dreams of a utopian ideal, always toward their ever progressive heaven upon this earth. To take what is fallen and make stand, to make perfect what is flawed. To cure all that ails, to cure the ills that befall us. To be like God, indeed to be God, to rule and make everything right and just, by force of might, to bow us to their desires.
Power above all, but at what cost and to what end?
In false virtue it all begins, a moral wave sweeps over, the final answers to all of mankind given Then so swiftly warped to a ruthless force, the sacrifice of many is to be made, ever desirous of more, the cleansing blood of the innocents spills, until millions fall, a world decimated and barren, the dream failed, but for which the guilty are never held to account.
In righteousness and of no regret, no apology, redemption naught, not for all the crimes, not for all the death, for nothing until they turn and rise and seek power anew, always to the end of time. We are upon that turn, it is their time yet again and it desires power in our very home of liberty, the destruction of America it seeks.
How easily we succumb, seduced and drawn into these illusions, but can it really happen here? In the sweet land of liberty, run free for centuries drawn down from the Founders sacrifice, of our free Republic. How can this be? But then, the serpent is strong, his seduction is of a power that no man or army can triumph against, not by our hands alone can we prevail. It is only with the power of God that this force can be vanquished.
And yet, His guidance is gone, slipped, fallen away from us and all of our own doing, for we thrust Him aside, mocked Him and build towers to all that He decries. We call out for saviors, for Him to rise again, but things turn by His own choosing and in fear we now realize that His time has not come.
To our travails, we succumb, we fight alone, and we fall together.
We die and fall in dream, we call to the Saints and the Angels many, the battle is joined, forces gathered, for the final battle, for all the times and passing of free men.
We pray for victory and His hand but our foe is driven by a force deep, not of old tales and heroes past, but a force of this world and now, driven hard by a dark power, a power sought that can make us Gods.
Just as those martyred on the Kosovo plain of centuries past, we die a virtuous and heroic death, a defeat to be told by poets proud and sung by Angels loud, but still and yet, a defeat and of an earthly fall we go, to heaven we rise and on earth we lament, until we await His call again.