The son of the revolution was raised perfectly
Taught music and mastery of mind and body
A proud arbiter of the grand vision of The Republic
Soon to stand among the chosen few Philosopher Kings
Ithas was a natural leader, a talented student and
A fierce fighter — His meter was measured and
His corps moved with the grace of the river
Yet, in his heart was a discordant song of sorrow
Stirred by the tours in the internment camps
Where those who dared to create were locked
Away — insured never to corrupt the culture
They were people – passionate, emotional, irrational yes
But people of his land, this country he was sworn to protect
Now from these people who threaten order with chaos
Now condemned for free will, free expression, challenging
The rational order of The Republic with their 3rd hand visions
Their imperfect repetitions in word and paint and sculptures of the true forms.
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