TALE OF A TYRANT

I am a liar, a twister of truth, a teller of fact turned to fiction, a cheater who cheats with words and ideas with never an honest conviction. I am a teller of tales best untold, of falsehoods of my fabrication. I am corrupt, an unspeakable blot on the record of God's great creation.

I look into eyes of trustworthy souls, then spin webs of disaster. Men are such pawns for well-chosen words; lies make them slaves, I their master.

When I was a child at an innocent age and life became all too abusive, I found my escape from prisons of truth in make believe dreams less elusive.

I closed both my eyes to obvious facts, told myself lies without trying and soon felt secure in the hard shell of sham without foolish comfort of crying. Slowly I learned there is power in love, much greater power in hating. This is the path I chose for my life. I found a world eagerly waiting.

They all stood before me the black and the white, the Christians, the Jews and the others. Each without knowing soon was to spring at the throats of their sisters and brothers. Each would respond to my taut puppet strings, eager to further my mission. Anxious to plunder, to scatter their souls on well-beaten paths to perdition.

This was my plan, this was my scheme, this was my game of beguile. The world quaked and cringed. My mastery worked, at least for a very sort while. When I was exposed as the fraud that I am, the two-faced faker of fury, I was accused by the world I abused, sentenced by my judge and jury.