Paint a Picture No. 43
The world will always find ways to falling apart, on how to say to stop it all, is a risk not many want to take upon. There are just some things in life that canâ€™t be overlooked, yet it will be, for the sake on chances of fleeting pressure, to break it all.
One will stand for the fight, even for how minor it could be, but get it done, for the good will of it all.
One will fall, out of being a coward, dying too soon of a weak heart, for how harshly the world reminder that soul, the world is not a whore.
One will find the fight against the troubles, unknowing, caught in trails of lies, which the trouble doesnâ€™t have to come from others, but also one to them inside to see.
One will die, for there must be the one, unsaid to others, that has to start the chain reaction.
Even in the crowded streets, a lone mind will not be completing miss, nor really forgotten. Matter nothing of class, rank, trade, or even who one knows, death is all the same. The pawns of an unnamed godâ€™s play, to even have the rights of having swords in hand, are mere toys.
Status is what has divided the very streets one is to walk. In the very colorful crowd of people, as time ticks away, the faces will blur, unable for another to tell one from the other.
Once the silk pour of bitter rum spikes the tongue, everything comes together. Waving a flag for justice and freedom, comes down on those, that will take that final death, before the choking fog of rich cherry copper and dirty hopeless firing bombing powder, canopy everything.
The mere toys coming to play defend so little, but another second to live, gives enough.
Though, enough is never enough, not in the busy streets of a dying city. Blending is only seen as a ploy, it doesnâ€™t matter to the end of it all. Nothing does, simplistic minds forget that. To bother on having the heaven shine a light on the few, that have a chance, doesnâ€™t complex to others to try and steal it.
No matter who has the light, young or old, a prey is everyoneâ€™s title. Open oneâ€™s eyes, and look around the damnation of one road, of a place one would call home, recalling back from the youth, through the tired eyes, and say with pride on that if everything is the same.
That is simply a blistering knot will bribe to make, dare not to go farther than sinful feet already have. From daybreak to the setting sun, all are free of the shame, landing in the good grace, equal in might.
Those changes, quickly beyond twilight, upon chime for everyone is alone, falling into an unknown despair that weighs down on the heaviest chains, that form a casket already made for one body. There are no savors. What befalls on the night watch canâ€™t save it all, but enough to survive. And survival is all there is, when the sun leaves, and night remains.
The world has always been cruel, even to those, who havenâ€™t opened their eyes.
Militia Company of District II under the Command of Captain Frans Banninck Cocq/Shooting Company of Frans Banning Cocq and Willem van Ruytenburch/The Night Watch by Rembrandt van Rijn/Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn/Rembrandt Harmensz van Rijn
Paint in the year; 1642
Location when painted; Amsterdam, the Netherlands
A while back this painting was brought by Jim Bevan when he was mocking about Some Jerk From Boston’s odd choice of cosplaying he did with his brother at a ComicCon during a MEDS podcast. It was very interesting and I wanted to give this a shot. So thanks Jim, on pointing this eye-catching painting. It was fun writing about it. Thank you.
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