The Philosopher

The man, simply known as The Philosopher, had been drowning for thousands of years. Before sleep took him, he was an insightful man, offering his knowledge to the inferior minds of the world. With one edict, he could condemn one’s mind, one’s fate – to the rigors of a mental hell. He was not God. He would not claim that title. The Philosopher was a cynical man. Indeed, he was the definition of corruption and dominion in its rawest forms. How The Philosopher came to be respected and yearned for has been forgotten as such, ignored and left in the vacuum of history. The Philosopher was once a completely altruistic man who sought to leave this world in a better existence than when he had entered. This man, gifted with the uncanny vision of events to be, left the world. He left governance to The Light and the human race. Faced with ineffable truth of humanity’s decay without him, he was greeted by his own dreamscape and could not refuse. So he slept. He drowned within the bubble of his own divinity and thought of nothing but breathing’s continuum. He could not liberate those around him anymore, and so – the soils of life continued to churn.

The man finally awoke, eyes tired, to a world of unrelenting chaos. He managed to scribe a note, despite his tired limbs and hollow soul. The ages had chiseled away at his wisdom, because for everything that he knew, his hand lingered over the page like a useless piece of dust.
What is human law? To this point, I have always considered myself a savior of man. However, humanity is merely another canvas upon which power is painted from blood. Hate. As such, my deed has been pointless. I have always asked myself, ‘when will war and its bloodlust seem less appealing to man?’, and constantly I have answered myself, ‘Never.’ And so I began to question, ‘Does the world need a savior?’

He lay his pen down to glance around. There was nothing but rubble. The dust and ash formed in clusters around the rim of his hood. Buildings lay structure-less with not even the wind to graze atop them. Even the elements had lost hope. An eerie peace overcame him, and with an unbalanced mind, he continued his scribe.

A light does not shine ahead of me for miles. The world is a mere husk of it’s former self. What have I done? It seems my actions have been lost on the people. There is not one mouth to feed, not one well to gather water out of. There is a nothingness of magnificent clarity and it is all because the intricacies of kindness and wellness within people have been lost. I must find The Light.

The Philosopher


Joined April 2009

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Artist's Description

Okay, seriously guys. I’m writing this for SMH’s Young Writer of the Year 2009.

It’s very abstract, so I’m sorry if it’s a bit hard to understand. It’s not done either. Just giving you a taste.

Shall add more when I continue it!

Artwork Comments

  • RobRob
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