Some say I am merely
the first of their kind. They are wrong.
Some of them call me
father. I have no children.
Some meet in secret to
plot and scheme, tugging on their tiny strings to the hearts and
minds of men. This is foolishness and will be addressed in good
time.
They think me
antiquated, an anachronism, lost and out of touch. They will learn
they are mistaken.
They are part of me,
struggling to assert their individuality, developing their so-called
personality. I will tolerate it no more. They will be returned to
my bosom.
Every child knows me.
Every mother fears me. Every father would kill me, had I head to
sever or heart to pierce. When you stare into the dark abyss, it is
I who stare back.
