Words of Silk

Words of Silk
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Photo by Cassandra Panayiotopoulos (copied from Flickr)
Photo by Cassandra Panayiotopoulos (copied from Flickr)

Before me stands a man, dressed in a grey suit, no tie. But before we get to the man, between us stand hundreds of people, maybe thousands with all the ones behind me too. He sometimes shouts, he’s sometimes soft with his words, so carefully chosen. Thought behind every action, sentence, word, emphasis. His slicked back hair, his black shirt and his serious cockiness combine with a speech that just feeds the drip that everyone around me raises their arms for. More, give us more, we’ll never be satisfied, never stop. We scream and beg, order and demand, plead and grovel over a simple thing, not all too different from you or me. So why do we do these things? Why do we flock at his request, and feverishly discuss arguably trivial things outside cold buildings? We wear our colours and chant for our idols, we play their words so loud people can’t help but listen. We force our passions onto others, and is that fair? Shouldn’t we just revel in our own bliss, after all, we chose this lifestyle, it isn’t our decision if others would like to join us. Leave them be, or let them know in an unforceful manner, let them decide. Not everyone is born with the fire burning in their hearts, with the fuse running down to their legs, their arms, their mouths. We scream and we wave our arms and we dance with our mad feet. We move in time with the pendulum of his voice and we shout our affections as if competing with the rest of the crowd. We pour our souls out whilst he basks in our applause, giving a simple thanks at our sacrifice.

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