Through the world of words in my mind, file on, dear soldiers. File through and be done with your business. Come, come soldiers of fortune, here on a mercenary mission to set bombs and throw grenades. Explore the unknown territory at will, check every corner, under every foreign bush and vine.
Are you here to pillage? To rape? Are you here to drink milk and eat cookies as you watch the little ones play? What is your purpose? I cannot care any more to fight you back. There was once a time when I would have fought with all I could to keep you out or, given the words, keep you in. There are far too many of you now, so I’ll let you do your thing.
Just remember. If you do rape a thought or two, while pillaging the coffers, if you come across the precious treasure, hidden in the very back, where spiders crawl about in their myriad cobwebbed mazes; well may I kindly request that you take a peek inside but do not touch? Leave it be please. It can do you no good. Leave it for the next words to find, the innocent ones, the ones who will giggle at the old-fashioned ways of happiness. They’ll make a terrible mess and leave laughter strewn here and there in the most disordered fashion, but they mean well. And, more importantly, I left the laughter there for them.