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The walls of all the ancient kingdoms have now fallen from grace. Our ancestors thought themselves as God and built structures and carved stone, painted sensations and wrote history in the most poetic form.
How do you follow greatness?
How do you overcome the fear of your own failure?
Do we resist it, do we remain stagnant, so that we may never fail?
Do we push through?
Persist even if the end isn’t ideal? Try, even when our outcome is defeat?
I will not attempt to be great like my ancestors, imitate any one form of art. Instead I aim to capture my rawness in its entirety and take that fire, that electricity and hone it. Then when the time is right, (if there ever was such a thing) I will spew fire with every breath I take. My fire will find its way on to paper, and that is where my legacy lies.
All that is left when I am reduced to blood and bone. The sweet soil of the earth.
All that will be left is dragon’s breath.
