Why is the world only transparent in my darkest hour? I share its shadows with predecessors who walked the same road Only at the lunar eclipse do the bells of clarity chime. Only then does the beacon of comprehension illuminate the cave brooding with ambiguities. Should I jubilate as my tower of integrity crumbles beneath a rampage run amok, warmongers famished after years of lean, cheap meat, eager for a recipe garnished with my baby skin of naivety? Leaving me choking evermore in the fumes of regret and admonishment.