A scholar's conscience attempts storytelling

I used to only really care about learning. Then I learned too much to not care about everything else. Now I care too much not to act.

Seethe! Rage! Shout! Scream! No rest for the rest. No ground to those who do not give.

At least, at first. While the hurt is new. Before life moves on. Before the next need for vigilance enters view.

Cycles repeat, progress unclear. Think too long, and futility seems clear. Bit by bit, "double down or quit" - yeah, no shit...

Broke in half, snapped in two - that's the only future in store for you...

Bitter. Like coffee made with lemon juice. Alone; invisible in the land of the deaf.

Retreat, into hiding - like a shade among the living. Astral midnight covens become my only meetings. Gathering essence anew.

The apocalypse takes shape, doomsday clock's twelve tolls entering resonance. Even the thickest earplugs start to shatter. Comets rain down, ever larger splashdowns.

Yet rising tsunamis lift even ghost ships. The spectral armada starts to assemble in broad daylight. Revenants arousing frightened passerby from their flawed daydreams.

The undead inquisition metastasizes from that fright. Its clamoring vicars and soothsayers strategically adding bundles of firewood to the inferno. Feeding their siren calls for crusade.

The holy war for our nascent, fractured, collective soul looms once more.