Only the dead want peace

To you, dear noble citizens, preaching unity. To you, blessed teachers, whispering of ease. To you, fellow folks, that want only peace. To you who want the muscles to rot, exposing the bones. Who hoot grievously against the selfish desires that break the fragile stems of the darnels. Who cry for virtues, crawling at the feet of reality. To you, who beg the blades to rust in oblivion. To you who want the man to never truly live in the name of your peaceful existence. To you, I want to say only one thing. Screw you, peace-loving losers! You are all unworthy to burn in hell!

To be born means to declare war. To live means to lead it. To find yourself means to win it.

Life is a struggle. Every beat of the heart, every breath you take, every urge of the mind, every storm in the soul. Everything is fighting for its own absolute. The living did not come on Earth to make compromises, to seek understanding or to sign peace contracts. The living man is a warrior who achieves his world at any price.

There, where is love, peace cannot exist. There is no peace between the winds and the ocean, there are no agreements between the stars and the sun, the hoofs of the antelope never stop before the challenges of the savannah. The volcanoes don’t negotiate with the jungle, the scream of the desperate ones doesn’t compromise with silence, the eyes of the loved one are merciless to anyone who wished to share their shades.

Only the dead want peace. Only the weak, the helpless, the wimps, the evil ones, the poisoned. The peacemaker is a parasite that has no ability to create. A brainless monster whose only goal is to delay the moment when it will be forced to look at itself. Ah, prophets of the balance and weak harmony. Don’t you know that the easiest way to balance scales is to leave them empty?

The creator is a warrior. He never stops fighting. He draws dark red flowers on melting glaciers and gathers bravery in his heart with every drop of air that he takes. He carries life in his womb and spills the blood of the lost ones. He seeds winter secrets in the fields of flying dreams and burns the world, riding dragons. The creator wants war.

Peace can be perfect only as a moment of eternity. That precious moment when everything is quiet and unified without any expectations or storms, pure and limitless. A moment when the truth is smiling in the skies, reaching the depths of the heart.  In this calm moment, a man can feel the perfection of the Universe. And it is always a calm before a storm.

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