What Reader roams the city where reading books is frowned upon and reading Minds, outlawed? Where the vast wonders of the youngest minds are handcuffed to workstations and leveraged by merchants?
What Wanderer stops at the porn & pamphlet stall selling Happiness that dies a slow death at his feet? Where Neons drown out the moon and diesel engines silence lovers’ quarrels?
What Chronicler walks into houses where the gold is safe but the children, hungry? Where upbringing is outsourced and hugs, scheduled?
What Spirit stays rooted in the graveyards full of broken promises and freshly-baked memories? Where Remembrance is a rare thing, but incense-sticks, common?
What Seeker investigates minds that have withered and speech that has dried up under the pretense of Custom? Where hands are tied by Doubt and eyes, taped by Propriety?
‘Each looking to give to the Light’ – this, the prophets offer. And may favor be returned unto them: the Reader be read, the Wanderer, discovered, the Chronicler, eulogized and the Spirit, remembered.
For, what else does the Seeker seek, if not to be found?