End

It poured some today

Why are gloated over-glorified victories and conquests etched into history books while those of silent passions and sacrifices deserve little mention? The former may be well known, but they gradually lose their glamour, blending into the walls of normalcy.
It's the confidentiality of the little sacrifices done in the quiet of darkness that puts it above all accomplishments in the heart of the informed.

Dark and gloomy weather outside.
The little dots of gain, betrayal, love, anger, happiness, industriousness, innovation, loss, bravery and depression strewn across the board that's our life. What do they account for, when the people moving them cease to exist.

There's always been a belief that change will alter the course of this current enough to flow in our favour. Wake up.
It's all in the head.
Change is nothing.

Times of darkness engulfs and wind blows the happiness away. There's unrest within the heart. "Where's the fairness in that?"
"Hunt its head and stick it onto a pole!", it says.
I don't think fretting over things that are determined by the wind would help. It kills us to drive for revenge; pains us to think of the calls that received nothing in reply.
Impending doom never seemed more subtle than this.
Hammer falls. The lightning strikes.
All is but a wasted mush of a fool's wishful thinking.

Still pouring.
The world and its machinery remains a puzzle to me.