A Night For Leaping, A Day to March
When beggars die, there are no comets seen;
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.
Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
Around midnight on a date that only comes once every four years, Andrew Breitbart ventured out to face the darkness while we slumbered.
That was his way.
There is indeed a darkness descending upon us this first day of March. And still we slumber through it.
Do we tremble still at what we think we see? We speak in whispers and cast furtive glances, squinting with unbelieving eyes. No, no. We mustn't speak so boldly. We should not be so brash.
Half measured and muted tones or else we will be scorned.
In this darkness we curl and and wait. Treading lightly and praying that when we wake someone else will have guarded the gates.
Andrew prowled the grounds in that darkness for us. We rear guard. Perhaps his last act was but a message.
It is a year to leap. It is the first day of our March. Forward, always forward.
Let the heavens blaze forth. Awake from our slumber. The day is upon us, let no man slumber upon this country's freedoms. Face the darkness and call it by its proper name. Communism.