The Danger of a Single Story
When I heard the story, I felt almost divine.
The claps resounded to the thick of the air.
I was lost, seeing the 'devil' become the popular 'saint'.
The lad clung to the teats of his pillows, as his tears make an ocean of regret, wishing life was snuffed out too early when the first cry was made.
But who could believe? Letters made words; words made sentences; but the sense was the emotions that escorted each word said.
He was crucified within seconds in our hearts; reprimanded for the hard times he made his shot. But who could bear hearing the beats of his sobering?
Occupied with our assumptions, with our uncountered encumbrances, he died too quick to make his story known.
Rest on to the speechless voices out there...