The Hitler Suicide
In the end, Hitler saved us some trouble. There was a time I wished that a trail, sentence and maybe even an execution could have taken place. Somewhere inside, a switch flicked. To a sick mind an execution may have flicked a different switch - one labeled “Martyr”. Then, I wonder if the system would have delivered any satisfying results, assuming such outcome possible.
Hitler died in a dark cellar - a rat, belly filled with poison. No cameras, no denials, no final “Deutschland über alles” echoing for the rest of civilisation. No procedure to look back on, flaws depicted and “should haves” tugging the mind.
Some opinions stay anchored for life - others are crushed with an eyelid - and then it’s only proper for a new journey beginning; a journey in search for roots of the equinox. In the end, real wisdom lies in questions for only a fool has all the answers - life’s toughest questions have no real answers. What you think is trivial, why you think it is paramount. And by the time you begin to understand how a specific opinion formed, all you may be left with are new questions.
I suffer no unease from my sudden new opinion, but am filled with curiosity for the threads of its fabric - these, I gather, will offer a much deeper insight into myself.