The Trumpet Test

Your pettiness radiates from your chin like a noose. Your blinkered view blinds you of opportunity and the rest of the world. Your words are loud but empty. I feel sorry for you, but I feel more sorry for me. That I had to endure you that moment on the television, that few minutes spent reading about you, this paragraph penned about you … and not on beauty and hope. You are a black hole. Minutes from the apocalypse, you look in the mirror to glimpse your greatness again. I pity you, your Emptiness.

I hope your children will break the walls you build and extend hands of hope over golden balustrades. My hope is with children who knows how you breathe fire and how to contain the cancerous flames of your ignorance. May your rise and fall be a spectacle to be remembered, a diagnostic litmus test on a sick society which will heal and aspire to more, before it is too late. 

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