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Enough, let's call off this endless siege.We are not duellists circling, swords drawn in fading light.This isn't a cold war waged in silent glares and bitter words.Stand with me, not as adversaries, but as equals,Our shared past a testament, not a battleground. I see the fortress in your eyes,But tearing me down won’t rebuild your walls—It doesn’t even come close.This siege must end. Release me,Let the barricades crumble,Drop the guards of control,Strip away the armour of the wronged.

This siege must end

At the nadir of the tether, I spin,her finger nudges—imperceptible, yet immense.Compelled, I ascend the string,nearly touching—yet not—the surface of her skin. With a sudden dip of her finger,I spiral downward, to the start.Her motions guide me, a dance of ascent and descent,until, with scissors poised, she contemplates the end. The ambiguity hangs heavier than the cut:Snip.I collide with the ground, still spinning,lost in the echoes of what this might mean.FSF

Thieves parked in an ally waiting and planning the way they will rob their target.

I don’t mind that you took my horse.The banjo? Take it.The pennies in my jar were nothing.But damn you for stealing my illusion—that sense of safety when my eyes shut at night. I never questioned it, until I had to,until it was all I could think about.So, damn you. Damn you deeply.FSF

Thieves of Illusion

You watched 'The Hunger Games' and rooted for the ones in the shadows, &nbsp; the rebels with their arrows and scars, &nbsp; fighting a Capitol that seemed too cruel to be real. &nbsp; You cheered them on, &nbsp; feeling the pulse of their defiance &nbsp; in your own steady heartbeat. You watched &nbsp;'Star Wars', &nbsp; gripped by the drama of the galaxy far, far away, &nbsp; where a ragtag band of fighters &nbsp; took on an empire too vast to comprehend, &nbsp; and you sided with the rebels, &nbsp; imagining yourself wielding a lightsaber, &nbsp; a hero in the making. You watched 'The Matrix' and nodded along with Neo, &nbsp; the chosen one, &nbsp; as he peeled back the layers of illusion, &nbsp; broke free from a world that wasn’t real. &nbsp; You knew the truth was worth the fight, &nbsp; even if it meant diving headfirst into the unknown. You watched 'Divergent' and admired the courage of those &nbsp; who didn’t fit neatly into boxes, &nbsp; who broke free from a society &nbsp; that demanded conformity. &nbsp; You saw yourself in their rebellion, &nbsp; in the refusal to be anything less &nbsp; than completely, utterly you. You watched 'V for Vendetta', &nbsp; felt the surge of righteous anger &nbsp; as the mask-wearing hero &nbsp; lit the spark of revolution, &nbsp; and you cheered for the downfall &nbsp; of a government too oppressive to endure. &nbsp; You understood the power of the people, &nbsp; the thrill of resistance, &nbsp; the poetry of the fight. And yet, here you are, &nbsp; in the quiet of your own living room, &nbsp; where the stories end &nbsp; and reality begins. &nbsp; You see the headlines, &nbsp; the protests in the streets, &nbsp; the calls for change, &nbsp; the resistance that’s not in a book &nbsp; or on a screen, &nbsp; but in the world around you, &nbsp; in the air you breathe. And somehow, &nbsp; the lines blur, &nbsp; the thrill fades, &nbsp; and you turn away, &nbsp; refusing to see &nbsp; that the story isn’t over, &nbsp; that the battle isn’t won, &nbsp; that the resistance you cheered for &nbsp; in fiction &nbsp; is the same one you’re living in now. Wild, &nbsp; how clear it was &nbsp; when it was someone else’s fight, &nbsp; and how easy it is to close the book, &nbsp; to turn off the screen, &nbsp; to let the credits roll, &nbsp; as if that was the end.

F.S.F

Writing, Poems and Rants

This siege must end

She

Thieves of Illusion

Ressistance