Voice

When the world is dying everyone is sleeping. When the world is sleeping everyone is dying. When truth is ready to set you free you keep on turning back in your dark and rusty cage.
You are weak when you are voiceless. You will never be freed unless you speak for the truth. You will never exist if your voice is not loud enough to shake the world. It is your voice that can heal the wounds of the weary. It is your voice that can wake the deep sleep of souls in a cave filled with illusions chained with the imaginations of dead hope. Your voice takes it all.
You are now taking the road of the lost; the first road of trickery. Voices are all rejoicing in the music that is somewhere on Earth but cannot be found. It directs the voices to lift their heads unto the ground shaking their hands swaying with the fast tempo of the music. There is joy and happiness painted on every faces. Some are dancing in the song of liberty that encircles their whole bodies. There are other souls at the corner shouting on the sky. Some are pouring salt on the weeds covering the ground. Clouds up behind the tall tower beside the road are smiling and rejoicing too together with the souls dancing in freedom. Then suddenly it rains… the rejoices of the souls grow like a burning flame opposing the heavy rain giving life to the dead road. Dancing and singing to the music vigorously kills the noise of the rain. Then lightning strikes the face of the road, thunder shakes the lost souls.
The illusion can be seen throughout the road. Many are deceived. Their sight focuses on the glories imposed by the illusion not knowing of the storm covering their lives. These souls are the fruits of a curse a spell that brings them unto the slavery of poverty; a curse that brings them to this road as they find themselves lost in their dreams of getting hope unto their lives. Now this hope drives them to resort on an illusion that deceives their eyes that behind the dark road is a wall separating their fantasies unto the images of reality. They are being tricked by the tower they adore so much.
There are things that happen behind the road’s illusions of joy and abundance. There is puppetry behind the smiles and there is corruption on every dancing and singing that fills the whole atmosphere of the road.
Truth will never be served unless there is a mighty voice strong enough to speak for a reason not to kill joy and dreams but to sing all the phrases of truth that will wake the souls lost upon this road. The truth will give them the real hope to stand up once again and fight for what is right and for what is moral to the majority of the world. It is this truth that will give them another wing to escape this road and will give the courage to defense the humanity controlled by the tower. Truth shall be served with fairness and justice. Truth shall be served with unity from all corners of Earth. The lost souls will see the real light only if the freedom for wisdom and the freedom to see the heavens of truth and justice will be served equally in all lands, then there is hope for everybody. If not, the whole world will be doomed forever in the hands of fantasy and ignorance. Everyone will be all children of illusion.
And now as you look closer upon this road there is a voice shouting on its edge, crying and shouting all the words and phrases of truth. Boldly yelling it speaks of the truth. Invite all the souls to carry on this voice, follow the echo follow the path that it leads and up there in the highest mountain you’ll stand far from the power of the tower. The road of the lost will forever be broken for now as you look forward far from its illusions you can see the art of justice and truth. Learn how to take it as defense for seeking the real hope in life. Never be with the road again. It will only confuse you about the realities of the world.
As the voice continuously gives you the pattern of truth, let it have its way to enter your once blinded heart and an assurance for freedom from the chains of slavery from the illusions will soon set its own wings to carry you beneath the skies of glory and real abundance. — John Patrick Molina