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Justice Peter Howard
@justicepeterhow Tasks: 24
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Joined: January 2025
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1881539Released 10mo ago100% FreeThe air hums with the static of power, a frequency tuned to the towers, where thoughts are minted, shiny and new, passed down like heirlooms, sticky as glue. The ruling class, they whisper and weave, a tapestry of truths we’re taught to believe. Their ideas, like vines, climb high and wide, entwining the masses, a cultural tide. In every epoch, the script stays the same, the names may change, but the game’s the game. The pens of the mighty write history’s song, while the rest of us hum along, hum along. Their words are the wind, their logic the rain, nourishing fields where their power remains. We till the soil, we plant the seeds, but the harvest is theirs, fulfilling their needs. Yet in the cracks, where the light breaks through, a whisper of doubt, a question or two. What if the ideas we’ve been fed are a ruse? What if the rulers have nothing to lose? The ruling ideas, they tower and loom, but even the tallest trees leave room for roots to rebel, for seeds to sprout, for new thoughts to rise, to question, to doubt. So here’s to the cracks, the gaps in the wall, where the ruling ideas may stumble and fall. For in every epoch, the truth will persist, that ideas, like empires, can’t always resist.
