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Reconstruction of the soul is a hard and tedious task...
~I shall not be moved~
Out of histories tumultuous past I rise.
Above scorching, restless ash, crushing the stench of slaveries chains
that held me bound, crippled and maimed, I loose the spirit of my ancestors roar,
deep within the obsidian of my core, while my mind and body churn to be free
from the silent scream within the depth of me.
I am the winter of discontent, brittle, marred, unconformed, the chasm of the heroes cry far to long forlorn.
I am the harp that no longer has strings, yet my soul sings harmoniously.
I am the bones carved into stone, the root in the soil that breathes life into my horn.
I am the image of kings and queens long before we were enslaved, the foundation beyond humanities graves.
I am history broken, reborn, renewed and I shall not be moved.