When in deep thought,
He raises his left eyebrow
And his long, magician-like fingers
Drum restlessly on the velvet sheets.
The ever-rising storm
In his deep dark eyes
Deals with the clownery of the rich
And consoles the agony of the masses.
His black and white logic,
With no gray shades,
Render indisputable justice.
The red stone
Embedded in the cold metal
Wields the ultimate authority.
The sheen
Of the sharp sword
Reflects a merciless carnage of guillotined heads.
The determination
Clenched in his tight fist
Breaks the shackles of doubt.
A life
Tempered by the testing tides of friendship, treason and political intrigue;
A calm
Born out of the simmering chaos.
A life, a penance under the volcano.
A truth, which he refers to as ‘the absolute’.
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