WALTER: Dost thou know who I am? I gather not.

Or who is it thou thinkest that thou see?

Art thou aware of what the year reports

When I request the profits I have gained?

Though I suppose that even if thou knew,

Thou wouldst elect to put it out of mind

As one would do to children’s fairy-tales.

My hands have wrought a kingdom steeped in power,

And should I choose to wash those hands of it,

A venture of such magnitude that I

Could leave the money-brokers and the crowns

To quake within their fur-lined walking-shoes

Would fade into the air and disappear.

Thine ignorance could strike the blackness from

The darkest night, when even stars have failed,

So therefore I’ll impart to you these facts:

A pitiable man walks to his door

And opens it only for him to greet

The barrel of the gun that ends his life,

And thinkest thou that I will bid him enter?

Nay, Skylar. I live not within the fear,

But peril makes its comfort inside me.

I open not that fateful gate of death;

But rather I shall rap upon the door.

(statesofmatter)