It was The Cascades of Blood and Roses

Blood flowing into the streets

A sign from the wealthy

Living in the castles on the mountains

A massive art project reminding the Peasants

Who was in control of their lives

The blood covered flowers

Rolled through the dirt paths

And cobblestone sidewalks of the little town

Filling the thresholds of bakery’s and tailor shops

A child bent down to pick one up and was briskly washed away

As the mother broke down

It was a decadent display

Meant to demean the people of the little town

To belittle their very existence

To keep them suffering for the basic needs they required

Scrambling and fighting to the death at times

While the rich looked down from their towers, amused

It was the same every year

The exact opposite messaging of Christmas

This was a holiday with no hope or gifts

No spreading of cheer or love

It was yet another mess for the poor to clean up after the wealthy had their fun

It was a statement, to signify what would become of them if they ever revolted

To rise against them would be certain death

Their suffering would be ten fold

Starving and screaming children

Mothers with no arms to hold their babies

And the Peasants believed this

Living in fear as to not upset the Rich

Doing every task and chore thrust upon them

It was reverent and willing

It was survival

What the Peasants didn’t know or care to know is that the Monsters on the hilltops were never real

The threats were an illusion, told by generations of storytellers and passed down through time

Their fear and compliance was based on lies written in a so called ‘sacred’ book authored by Peasants themselves, with a desire to live above, in comfort, without the brutal pain of labor

The folklore that had shaped their world and seemingly offered safety and sustenance was actually abuse, perpetuated by the greedy rich, obsessed with power

It was taught to Peasants when they were children

Babies with tiny brains, incapable of forming reasonable beliefs on their own

The fear grew into adulthood

The complacency was endearment, part of life

Shame and guilt were tools used to keep any opposing thoughts from otherwise capable brains

The ruse continually carried out by brainwashed Peasants themselves 

And this for centuries, solar millenniums

Galaxies form and wither in the time of this betrayal

And yet no peasant rises

Afraid to question, afraid to change

In living fear of The Cascades of Blood and Roses