Pierre
Honored Fathers and Mothers. Forgiveness, please, that I send not tribute but pain to your kingdom. I am troubled by the when I now call home. Your children, hundreds of generations distilled from your seed, are hollow. Dressed in garish rags, peddling drink and spite to worshippers of money. The land of my birth is a playground for fools. I know this cannot be so everywhere. I feel it. The spirit of a people so proud, so gentle, cannot be erased, not even by the cruel tricks of “history”. But I know not where to look for it, and my heart grows cold. I feel anger and I seek guidance.
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