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Styx
It”™s overwhelming.
Closer, still closer.
Always worse than you expect, even when you expect the worst.
Your streets, the places you live and know, can change in a day, minute, hour”¦
There is no measure for the thing that catches you with guard down, that will catch you sleeping, either in it”™s long, creeping-wearing on your soul or quick demolishing of all that you know. You lie down for a nap and rise to find the world has changed.
The river overflows its underground banks and binds its way to every crack and crevice of your days to come.
Your new life is war.
Do what you can.
Is it enough?
Few prepare.
What”™s worse is a fight to survive where the enemy is not clear.
What do I know of governments and wars and disaster wars”¦
Nothing.
I have never seen someone die or be dead.
But, I know about life. It”™s not the kind of stuff you tell.
I will say this:
The leaders, the true leaders,
The ones who people follow
Because they want to,
Because they need to,
Are there, in the midst.
They are never leading from far away.
Let us hope that there is someone at the domes and all of the places where things have gone bad who people listen to, whose only authority is being a good person.
And making decisions that help.
Because to the people who survive
Blancos and Bushes do not exist.
They are the ghosts of authority that reign no longer,
Ghosts that local heroes will always outrank,
When hell is here and now.
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