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I saw myself upon a lonely road—
Night fell, and cold winds stirred.
Like a soldier taking the night watch,
I wandered the wild in silence.

Fair enough, they say: “You must be a man.”
But what of it?
Do not heroes fall sometimes?
Even lions miss their prey.

Yet I am heavy-laden
By the thoughts that live in my head.
Two voices speak to me—
Which shall I obey?

One whispers hope,
Though it sounds like a fairy tale.
The other bids me fall—
And perhaps he speaks the truth.

For I have lost.
But must I stop now?
When the void gives no answers,
And darkness hides its reasons?

Each day, I hold my pen—
Its ink, my bleeding soul.
I wish I could stain my spirit
With the very words I write.

My mind finds no rest,
My heart is full of storms.
A hurricane rages within me,
And I long for the Watchers
To take me home—
To bury me beneath the old, cold stone.

Friends are gone.
The bride? I can no longer trace her path.
And still the question echoes in my mind:
Can I still be the hero?
Can I still sing the songs
Of kings who once conquered?

I look around—
And each man walks his own road.
No one cares where I go,
Or what I’m becoming.

The Storm in My Mind (continued)

By Bismark Finley

Now even I—
Am a stranger in my own thoughts.
Where to heed?
To light?
Or fall, like a star whose name I know not?

"Hey, you two," I shout into the void.
"Why quarrel in my mind?
You know the burn is too great—
Go argue with a stronger man.
I find no joy in your counsel."

Perhaps… you are right.
If I stop—
The world dies.
But how can I be a hero for zeros
When the zeros fight against the very fire I burn?

They heap burdens on my path,
They see not what I carry.
So I ask,
Should I die for the one who starved me?
Or for the one who chases gold
In the streets of Vanity Fair?

And what reward will be my heir?
I ask—
Softly.
Subtly.
As if heaven might whisper back.

Don’t scorn me when I say:
Evil is good, and good is evil—
That’s where my mind now lives.

Pleasure sings.
Gold glitters.
And I—I could taste any woman I wish.
And Death?
I mock him.
My sweet days are full,
And my dark days hold no guilt.

What would you do in my place?
Would you run to the path of light?
Can a leopard trade its skin for a lion's?
Can a black man become white?

I say—
This world is not fair.
My own king has despised me.
Now I dwell among strangers,
Feeding on crumbs from the table of the rich.

My spirit…
A faint shimmer
Still fights to rekindle your words in me.

But I ask again—
What is a hero?

And to you—
The voice who fills my soul with ashes,
Perhaps you speak true:
I am no hero.
I see the beautiful women
And the shimmer of the high places.
I want my seat among them.

But you—
You speak only of light.
No wisdom of the shadows.

Isn’t every path a blend of dusk and dawn?

I cling to the flicker in my chest—
Yet even it rejects your purity.
Still, I try to follow your thread,
Though my soul recoils.

Will I be a hero for the zeros?
Perhaps.
But my mind is aflame.
Each voice pulls me by a different chain.

Can you show me
The evil days ahead?
The storms hiding behind each dream?

For the world within my thoughts
Is no safe place.
It rages like a sea
No man can calm.

And now—
I look toward death.
Let it come without enchantment or spell.

For in the end,
There is no middle man.
It is either me—
Or nothing.
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