Remember, remember the fifth of November
But not for the fire.
Not for the mask that hides your face.
Not for the chants,
The hollow echoes of rebellion
That make us feel like we’re doing something.
No. Remember the truth beneath it,
The pain. The connection.
The silent revolution that begins in the shadows.
This wasn’t just a man with a plan,
This was a system exposed for the lie it was.
Gunpowder? It’s not the spark you think it is.
It’s the compression;
The buildup of everything you’ve ignored,
Everything you’ve accepted.
As ‘The way things are’.
Treason? Yeah, let’s call it that.
But what treason in the world that’s already broken?
Where power is a game,
Where the laws are made by people
Who never follow them,
Where descent is a crime
Until it’s convenient to rewrite it as history.
Plot? Do you think the plot died with the gunpowder?
You’re wrong.
It lives on in the space where the narrative
Is not tightly controlled.
It lives in every person who questions.
Who doesn’t listen when told,
“Just accept it. This is how it is..”
Mask? It’s not about hiding your identity.
It’s about showing that you are not just one person.
You are all of us. We are one entity.
We are still waiting; still questioning; still working.
So remember this day.
Not for the past,
But because revolution doesn’t die
It adapt; reboots;
Takes new forms in the digital haze
Where the war is waged in data,
Not in gunpowder.
(c)BobChristian
