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The winter blues are rich with gloom,
twisting my heart with apathy.

And perhaps shame too, let it not hide behind the weather.

Is it this dark obsession or some hidden transgression?

All the lessons learned, but failure is all that remains.

What road is left, I cannot see between the flickers of my dwindling flame.
Two illuminated halos shrank
into the the cross stitching of
Goldenrod and Jade.

Smaller they became, until swallowed by
the all consuming darkness of his pupils.

This time it was serious.
He flashed one last glance
at his foreign reflection.
Then out went the lights,
as the weight of night over took him.
Jan 15 · 41
Extinction’s Paradox
Devin Ortiz Jan 15
This body fell once before,
Running itself to extinction,
In the pursuit of the great word.

Piece after piece, as each thought left,
As each prose was transcribed,
The body too, began to fade.

The resurrection has begun.
A small step forward, with it a line.
The magic flows, the body grows.

A step becomes a stride.
A line becomes a poem.

The exchange has equalized.
The give and take finally in unison,
Healing the body and the mind.
Jan 1 · 51
Something
Devin Ortiz Jan 1
I left all of my words behind.

Stress chiseled a weakness within me.
As my vessel failed, my mind did too.

Though..

I’m not quite finished.
Not quite drained.
Not yet.
No.
Nov 2019 · 86
Hello Limbo
Devin Ortiz Nov 2019
It had to super secede conscious thought.
To be biologically absolute.

Overthinking is a non conundrum.
Fight or flight, that’s all that’s left.

Removing choice, perhaps the key,
Though it’s no clear cut sanity.

Precision is swift, through non mortal blows,
Just within the fringes of lethality.

On the edge of life or the brink of death.
Let the flesh decide for itself.
Nov 2019 · 117
Black Bird
Devin Ortiz Nov 2019
The black bird returns to the grove.
Its wings clipped, its pride stripped.

The black bird wretches a horrid chord.
Its song defiled, its depression wild.

The black bird offers a stifled dance.
Its passion shown, its fate honed.

The black bird finds a fractured peace.
Its freedom bound, its sanity found.
Nov 2019 · 121
The Fisherman
Devin Ortiz Nov 2019
Words drift, past the pages and recollection.
Some skip just above a stream of consciousness.
Others hurdle by, accelerating into shapelessness.

A fisherman of thought.
Praying the last of his bait,
feeds him, just another day.

As the days blend together,
and the current thrashes on,
hope is a face on the water.

He’s filled his belly with persistence,
but the need for creation lives on.

Cast the line.
Spin the rhyme.

Feast on the dreams of tomorrow.
Sep 2019 · 202
Roses and Thorns
Devin Ortiz Sep 2019
“A nail in the coffin, such a significant mark.”
Said the dead man walking,
with a hole in his heart.

But the nail was his weapon,
his sword, his pen.
Sheathed within his own body,
his life, his friend.

So day after day, as stress grew,
as life came.
He welled up all the words,
which sang.

All of this, blood, sweat and tears.
Until the fool realized all his lost years.

He yearned to draw the blade once more,
and so did it pour,
all the words and shame
he had to his name.

So the ink flowed, his life blood,
his prose.
Always to write again, his blooming
red rose.
Aug 2019 · 230
Rotten Apples
Devin Ortiz Aug 2019
I set upon the Grotto,
where the hanged men dangled, dear.
Those desecrated corpses,
no longer held their fear.

I fashioned up an axe,
To **** the living, certainly not the dead.
See I’m taking out the demons,
and nightmares inside my head.

Through dusk and dawn again,
I hack away with glee.
Happy little madness,
please end this ****** tree.
Aug 2019 · 146
Arborist’s Ailment
Devin Ortiz Aug 2019
Fingertips reach out against the forgotten wood.
An old wicked tree, gnarled with memories.
It seemed only moments ago, each groove
and every ridge was known.

A palm outstretched delicately, hoping to feel,
pressed against the rot of fading time.
The wounds of the mind run deep.

The hand pulls back, steadies it’s rage,
erupts into useless follies.

And still stands no closer to remembering.
Aug 2019 · 196
Malevolent Dawn
Devin Ortiz Aug 2019
The Clock strikes three days until Madness.
An itch of a Tick and every Toc.

The Question of old simmers in the Mind.
A Deviant is only half the Answer.

The Cursed Weapon is drawn at the Ready.
Words offer no Reason or Resolve.

The Golden Feather succumbs to the Crimson.
Yielding all Truth to die as Fiction.
Jul 2019 · 256
Retrospect
Devin Ortiz Jul 2019
We shared stories as the hours passed by.
Each secret detail, leading to more intimate detail.
Hearing each others mistakes, failures, blunders..
It is an open invitation to share in the humility of the human condition.
We live within the tales of another, carefully refitting the pieces of each other.
So far from the picture we once held, but ever better, imperfect even.
The refined inadequacy is all the truth we ever needed.
For who would we be without them.
Jul 2019 · 243
The Otherside
Devin Ortiz Jul 2019
The finish line is a delusion.
We run the race at our own pace.
Some walk. Some run.
Some crawl. Some quit.
Everyone dies, no one wins.

Suppose there is no other side.
Suppose you just keep going,
Until you don’t.

Is it an uphill battle?
Is it all downhill from here?

A little of both, a lot of neither.
Going, going, gone.
Jun 2019 · 200
Limbo
Devin Ortiz Jun 2019
I reach out and pound on the glass.
I scream to the world, fist bleeding,
Voice scratching into hoarse whispers.

Everyone. They all move...on.

The roads diverged. And I’m on every path.
But more importantly I’m on none.
Jun 2019 · 140
Imperfect Control
Devin Ortiz Jun 2019
Severed strings. I dangle free.
Master only to psychopathy.

Take it all. Every crutch.
Can’t manipulate,
What you cannot touch.
Jun 2019 · 153
Two Tethered Hearts
Devin Ortiz Jun 2019
To be tethered to a lover is a dangerous game.
A cord of boundless strength winds deep,
Between the flesh and blood of the heart.

When stress rises in you, so too in I.
When depression grows within one, it becomes two.

And yet happiness too, does bloom.
Though not today, nor anytime soon.

We live on the fringe of happiness, my skinny love.

We live on the promise of maybes or never.

I’d sever the cord, if you could be free.
Though we both know that could never be.

This story has been written.
Now we play the parts.
We suffer in the moment.
We live for tomorrow’s maybe.
Time will liberate us.
So it shall be, so it shall be.
Jun 2019 · 380
Paradox Remains
Devin Ortiz Jun 2019
Reality begins to break, I shatter
Reality begins to break, I remain

Reality remains, I shatter
Reality remains, I remain

All of this, all at once.
Every moment, every time.

There is no constant other than the unknowing.
Jun 2019 · 177
The Evil Eye of the Storm
Devin Ortiz Jun 2019
That was no ordinary lightning,
I knew that much for sure.
The walls shook with violent vibrations,
Echoes of the beastly ritual below.

Through flashes and thunder,
Archaic broods of badlanders rose.
Each strike tore open the seems of
Conceivable imagination.

This is not the first time.
This storm is without end.
Some will know it for the darkening it is.
Others will hold it secretly within nightmares.
May 2019 · 273
Twisted Fang
Devin Ortiz May 2019
His spectral stride was not the worst of him.
His stoic face was a flawless slab of stone.
His rending claws slipped idly within his pockets.

As if extensions of his sheathed talons, on either side of the ghoul was a hound of hell.

The beasts could not look more different, save for their crimson eyes which sang of the gallows.

The worst had indeed arrived.
Each patient step glided after the other.
With no word, with no tempo, with no sign.
The dance of grimaced howls and fangs began.
May 2019 · 209
Stagnant
Devin Ortiz May 2019
Where is everyone off to in a hurry..?
Why am I still waiting..?
May 2019 · 140
Dearest Mask,
Devin Ortiz May 2019
Finally..I wake from the dreamless wakefulness,
supposing that now, this is all real.

And how is such a harsh reality met?

By staring down Death’s corridor.
I don’t take the first step, I imagine that
is still quite some time away.
Though this time, it is much more than a glance.

And for the record, I remained tethered
to the living.

But to go on, that must be the work of Mask.
For how could I?

Yes, I resolve this ordeal to Mask.
Absolve myself of responsibility,
for was he not always in control?

Steady now, it is a burden for us both to bare.
May 2019 · 171
To the Sparrow over there..
Devin Ortiz May 2019
a bird born in the city
may not know of the forest.
a bird born within the concrete jungle
may not know, but they share emptiness.

a bird born in the city
may have its belly swell.
a bird born in the crossroads and high towers
may feast forever and never fill.

a bird born in the city
may call it a home.
a bird born amongst alleys and avenues
may sing, but often crows.

a bird born in the city,
flies with wings far from what is known.
Apr 2019 · 234
Anticipation
Devin Ortiz Apr 2019
Just outside the sea stained window,
An ocean swells into divine ascension.

Blue heaven.
Blue hell.

The impending crash will never come.
Apr 2019 · 1.2k
Solitude
Devin Ortiz Apr 2019
Solitude is the strength of separation.
The separation of self, from others, from all.
Within the crowds and between loneliness,
Solitude is power personified.

Solitude walks the streets in indifference,
Passerby’s smile or stare, no care.
The vacuum of isolation’s stronghold,
Breathes confidence, exhales ticking time.

Solitude is the mask of many,
And the face of few.

Solitude is the liar’s crutch,
And the King’s crown.

Be wary of Solitude, its power is profound.
Mar 2019 · 246
Broken Glass
Devin Ortiz Mar 2019
Violent verdant windows of shattered glass,
Sharp walls of flesh illustrate the oozing of lust.
Beneath the anguish of sillouettes and glammer,
Lie the wolf’s gazing demand for power.

Crimson crowns carry the stench of death,
Flowing deep from within the cavern of man.
The belly of this beast utters Hell’s Horizon,
A howl of sadistic victory and damnation.
Mar 2019 · 101
Fool’s Gold
Devin Ortiz Mar 2019
King Midas has his gold.
The writer has his folly.

He’s broken bread on a tale or two.
Hundreds of scores, blessed by few.

Memories dwindle between the pages,
Pieces of self transcribed over ages.

Words written today,
Swiftly begin to fade.

Every line which is writ,
Leaves scars, oozing grit.

Nobody is the same as Yesterday,
But what’s this chameleon to say?

An invader most foreign has arised.
Dooming with thoughts of demise.

The cycle of ancient history,
All creation forgotten in tomorrow’s mystery.
Change writing poetry time forget mystery memory midas
Mar 2019 · 210
Single Space(s)
Devin Ortiz Mar 2019
All roads lead here, the Conduit says.
You cannot count the infinite paths.
To fathom every touch is madness.
But, brick by brick, time after time..

This place has written its own history.

How can it be so, in such a small plot,
To spin the tales of so many?

To be the grand hall of tears and joy,
misery and folly, hope and fear?

Who would we be without it?
How are we so bound to a singularity?

We must marvel at the commonness of it all.
We must marvel and be thankful.
We must marvel but not dwell.

All places, in all worlds are the shapers of creation.
Jan 2019 · 380
The White Sea
Devin Ortiz Jan 2019
The white sea was vast. In total contradiction,
to all reason, it seemed to dwarf the blue sky below.
Currents of clouds bubbled and spewed, while others tore away in violent serenity.
It was an ocean of heaven's dreams.
The travelers set upon the white, leaving small earth behind.
As they ascended into the clouded sea,
all thoughts of land had escaped them.
Slowly, the pepples and grains which had become markers of memories and time, faded away into some distant place.
The white sea was more than a physical place, it too was like a drug.
It stole away all reason, it lies like a brilliant poison in the body, hidden and lethal.
It was ecstacy and it was death,
but above all else it was beautiful.
Jan 2019 · 407
Piece by Piece
Devin Ortiz Jan 2019
As the writer wore away page after page,
a swelling of maddening frustration grew.
The parchment soaked in the dark ink,
and pockets of hell seeped through each word.
There is desperate power in written verse;
They know this, yet the pen rages onward.
The writer pays this debt in full,
in flesh and blood, as one does.
Stories must be told, the price is high,
but silence cost ever more.
Jan 2019 · 222
Shared Dreams
Devin Ortiz Jan 2019
Between the beams of last light and sunrise,
collective souls enter the twilight of dreams.

A great many dwell here,
but far greater are the dreamless.
Those lonely, shut out hearts,
whose minds dare not open.

But for the good ones,
struck hard by empathy's song
they dream.

They float on a sea of faces,
masks of every spectrum of emotion.
Here, dreams become reality,
as real as anyone believes them to be.

On some level, they must know this.
They must acknowledge this consciousness.
They wake, knowing and doubting.
For how terrifying is that truth.

And in all that fear,
dreamers know they must dream.
They must exist between the beams,
for all the dreamless dreams.
Jan 2019 · 282
Autumn's Encore!
Devin Ortiz Jan 2019
The Frost Lords cast their wind,
into the lingering breath of Autumn.
She had sung her song. Encore! Encore!

Those Winter Warlocks grew envious.
Why should she sing so.
It was January after all.

The decree was uttered,
Lady Autumn surrendered.
She hibernates, healing her voice.

Pockets of frigid air arrive,
the crowds begin to cower.
The Frost Lords are most pleased.

It is the time for stillness.
It is the time for death.
Yet, the songs will come again.
Jan 2019 · 180
Cosmic Karma
Devin Ortiz Jan 2019
Mistress of Celestial Blight,
I have scorned thee again.

Light leaves as darkness
breaks the rhythm of harmony.

Vibrations of twilight,
split both mind and body.

Whispers of stars,
recall the old oaths.

Sins spiral into the gravity of
blood and guilt.

Forgive me oh mother,
I will break one thousand times more.
Jan 2019 · 483
Recognized Need
Devin Ortiz Jan 2019
Another year passes.
An arbitrary collective delusion.
Another year of promises.
Words write themselves some days.
Others, require a show of force.
This spectrum grows day by day.
Business and pleasure.
Business brings consistency.
Pleasure brings creativity.
Drown in expectations or,
Suffer in idle waters.
I seek balance.
I see it on the horizon.
Dec 2018 · 290
Sleight of Hand
Devin Ortiz Dec 2018
I am all the magic I have ever needed.
I am this thinking, valid creature.
And while not every verse beckons
Itself to be the grestest.
It does desire to be sang.

Magic is poetry, it is the nature of the craft.
Words are cantations whick evoke emotion.
By my bedside, is my own spellbook.
I write whatever I wish to be and it is so.

That truth is as real as you believe it to be.
I bleed my own words, I suffer in their truth.
I become ecstatic, and at peace.
That is my serenity, my sleight of hand.
My magic, my fortune.
Dec 2018 · 333
Blighted Hands
Devin Ortiz Dec 2018
She fell without warning,
Time taking as it must, as it should.
And despite how the living grieve,
All exist to be taken, to move on

The histeria began,
Sister falls into a panic, foresight disguised as a dream.
Reality blends into inevitability.
The then was now.
Brothers stare silent, too young, too afraid,
And unable to escape their crippling fear,
That Death had come.

Her eyes, flickered as a fading flame,
Dying at the wicker's last breathe.
Her hands shook violent, as empty words poured through her head.
A son, me, the eldest, emboldened within this moment to take control.
She was leaving this world.
That much I knew.

But there exist that Dark Magic.
That abilities of the ******,
Aquired through years of suffering.
Not one's own, but the tears of life,
Gained from tormented innocents.

And such a power, in such a moment,
Was ultimately released.
Simple as a touch.
Death decays into Life.
She breathes, a mother returns.

Yet, I am burdened.
Weighed down by,
The scorn of my own corruption
Infused light.
Dec 2018 · 283
Amnesiac's Curse
Devin Ortiz Dec 2018
In ritualistic insanity, the amnesiac begins to wail.
He hears the symphonic tune of damnation.
A wicked chord struck on a lyre of bones.
As tears flow, the pain sharpens, his fingers split, adding thick crimson curdles to death's hymn.
The weight is bore, lightless eyes follow the ache of mortal fatigue.
This sad creature screams his terror, as he remember his ode.
Played from his own marrow, from his own calcified soul.
Dec 2018 · 588
Memories of Never
Devin Ortiz Dec 2018
I walk alleys and avenues of broken roads.
Black tops eroded from years of punishing
Rainfall, passerbys and time.

After a hard rain, shallow mirrors open up,
Revealing an unyielding world on its head.

It seems, as I walk amidst the distinguished,
Cracks, chips and pebbles that this moment,
Both real and a memory is everlasting.

Overcast, both dismal and hopeful, I read
Between the skylines of the upsidedown.

I breath in this parallel, I write it all down,
A collection of neverhaves.

A creation that is mine for the making, or
For the taking, should I wish.
Nov 2018 · 267
Guilt of the Untraveler
Devin Ortiz Nov 2018
There are no what ifs,
In the sea of the could haves.

For what should,
Certainly would.

Leaving only,
What is, to be.
Oct 2018 · 363
Pestilence
Devin Ortiz Oct 2018
The Autumn baronies have fallen.
A culture of flames, brilliant and bold,
Against cold indifference of time.

What is a King, with a broken crown.
Vermilion leaves sail across pools of crimson.
Cobblestone stained, forsaken name.

Death divine, dancing kindred spirits,
Haunting the halls of Royal ruin.
Longer still, grows the silence.
Oct 2018 · 242
Sweet Croons of Passing
Devin Ortiz Oct 2018
Two crooked razorbills fluttered past
The old oak tree on Bell's Grave.

They buzzed and crooned, in perfect pitch
For the necromancer's song.

Not to be outdone by the deathsinger's,
The skies opened up in torrential hymns.

As the Earth drowned in sinful peace,
A young man began to dance his fortune.

Feathered fellows, pouring rain, innocence.
A tune long forgotten in this worn grove.

Yet still, it was good, it was grand.
The honesty of death was pure.
Oct 2018 · 216
Tidal Ways
Devin Ortiz Oct 2018
Mania is like a wave,
High tide, and I'm drowning.
I take on water, feel it fill my lungs.
As the pressure builds, I fade into white.

I'm riding the wave, a ******* tsunami.
But no, that's not quite right,
I'm a part of the wave, this rage,
This powerful force of insanity.

And there lies the shore, closing in.
If I was of right mind, surely,
I would at least hope to cry pardon.
But I'm not, I see the imminent crash,
Only laughing, maniacally.

With thunderous approval the shoreline
Falls, within the vast ocean beneath me.

When the waves pick up,
When they come crashing down,
They ring with power, but mostly pain.

So I'm left in this basin of contamination.
The sewage of mind eats away the euphoria,
Leaving cancerous tumors of depression.
Now growing rampant, and lingering.

The tide in time recedes, the world grieves.
Sometimes there is healing, though often
There is only suffering and the waiting.
Knowing for any better or for worse,
The tug of war between the shores
Of mania and depression, goes on.
Devin Ortiz Oct 2018
Through silky darkness, with
Whispers of twilight tearing at
The fringes of a forsaken veil.
I kneeled before the crown,
With tainted adoration.

For once, I fought between the bleed.
Betraying the rot of time against flesh.
Drawn to a broken throne of dead gold.
Eyes awoken to the fabric of her majesty.

A curved sword, a jagged dagger,
Quick to slip, slit and seep.
Armed assassin, of her corrupted right hand.
The pleasure, mine for the taking.

Dearest Queen, sing of death most damning,
I'll abide, leaving none standing.
Drift onwards, lightless legions,
Abandon hope and all your reason.
Sep 2018 · 2.0k
Devils You Know
Devin Ortiz Sep 2018
I am of different mind.
Strong convictions about
The guilty, the right and the wrong.

And with the Devil on my back,
I scream this strange song.

Sins of the father, falter farther.
His downfall will be my ascension.

Through the manacles of manipulation,
He offers cries of peace, of mending.

A piece of a puzzle, which drew me life,
But the business ends there,
I'll not be intertwined in such affairs.

I'll ******* the old man, in mind and spirit.
The blinding goal of this obsession,
But these fruits of labor utter no confession.

And true, such an unwavering soul,
Is dark, toxic and hell.
Though, with black magic, it is for me to sell.

So it happens, that the devil is me,
Then I'll sit with that in evil glee.

Good, bad, or ugly.
I am left only with myself.
Sep 2018 · 586
Double Edged Pen.
Devin Ortiz Sep 2018
Writers are quite dangerous.
She came to the bar, to watch,
And listen, to hear stories.

Carefully, I tread. For fear,
That my own diction, would become
Trapped in her world of fiction.

Though, of course we swapped pieces.
And still, only selected to paint,
A vision of my own creation.

Small freedoms, but they matter most.
As I'm a prisoner to demon's I host.
Be wary poets, of power most foul.

Ensnaring half spectres of being,
In a prose, a thought or a feeling.
Reality is as real as you write it.
Sep 2018 · 293
A Bastard's Tale
Devin Ortiz Sep 2018
Symptomatic time bomb.
Deluded delusions of ethereal projections,
A dissociated self of severe sorrow.
Louder now, the crooning calls,
The malevolent mayhem of voices.
Sleepless nights, onset insomnia.
A refuge from reality is lacking.
Dreams sent packing.
Nightmares walk.
People talk.
And time offers no relief.
Crawling inside, fear growing.
Fiendish thoughts, lethal insanity.
Scribe away, transference of pain.
Words trapped between pages,
A book of demons, all of them screaming.
Bound by a spine of mental failing.
Fold the latch, turn the key.
Bury this *******'s tale.
Rinse and repeat,
With each rising defeat.
And pray the delay of further tells,
These fortunes of the lost amd the broken.
Sep 2018 · 369
Foolish Love
Devin Ortiz Sep 2018
I fell hard for a stranger,
Her words, the pauses between them,
The boldness in which she spoke,
And of course the confidence in her approach.

But, woe is me, captivated fool.
Palavar was a sweet heat exchange.
Fast passion in shared interest.
The flurry of tongues refreshed,
Impressed by the company of another.

I left with only a name,
No good at this game,
Of courtship.
Sep 2018 · 332
Relapse of Falsehood
Devin Ortiz Sep 2018
Knowledge of Self, merely an assumption?
Better, or so I thought,
Failing hard, falling harder.

I burned brightly, burning through bridges,
Boundaries, and borders.

The path I walked was ashen,
In the wake of cinder,
The relics of the past.

Change, hubris aside, was shallow,
Was not the core of Flesh,
Just the Husk of Solitude.

I fell to the Rage, that desperate rage.
So eager and volatile.
Hidden in the shadows, in plain sight,
For the time I'd both welcomed and feared.
That explosion of otherness,
A disillusioned self.

Trauma lingers in a double edged blade,
Wounding the wielder and the wounded.
Neither in blood, thankfully so,
But battered pride, twist the ego.
Jul 2018 · 388
Gods on the Water
Devin Ortiz Jul 2018
Piercing Eyes of Goldenrod.
Both bold and brilliant.
The calming center in a hurrricane
Of blue and white feathers.
A gaze which levels any ego,
That should find itself too
Important, in either size or space.
(Do you believe in omens?)
Rebirth is on the horizon,
Or so the star seekers say.
Change, the end of old ways, days.
(But I'd not think it)
The Universe likes to share whispers,
Of things to come or happenings of maybe.
There is no intent ill or otherwise,
Just the honest grievances of time.
As this God of Death, sits high upon
Stilts which bathe in still waters,
I see horror. I see despair. I see death.
That vision, those eyes, golden and
Sinister, but humble all the same.
While the winds sing of new life,
I hear the sorrowful hymns of death.
(Balance.)
There are many ways of knowing.
Magic both black and white.
Magic old as time, as new as a moment.
And if I should see the dark days ahead,
Count that a blessing, to see anything at all.
Jul 2018 · 381
Finish the Story
Devin Ortiz Jul 2018
I've written this story,
Thousands of times in my head.

But when it comes to pen and paper,
I run out of things to be said.

The bard, the mire, the sleuth
His lute, his fear, his truth.

Traveller through time,
His words chill the spine.

Oh, weaver of tales,
Hunter of lies.

Falter not to failure,
Or meet demise.

Songs will save thee,
Open all eyes to see.

Though the devil is in the details,
His chord, echoes on all that fails.
Jul 2018 · 310
Stream of Consequence
Devin Ortiz Jul 2018
Consequence is the Heart of Belief.
Whether a Truth .
Whether a Falsehood.
Whether Virtuous.
Whether Vice.
Conviction alters Reality.

Human existence is a stream of consequence.
Flowing through ebbs of Right and Wrong.
Of Heavy currents of deceit, which overflow the banks.
And pools of Stillness, in stagnant paradigms.

This Race of Fact and Fiction rampages.
The Powerful and the Hungry.
The Weak and the Proud.
All caught in the Tides of Creed.
An Undertow which swallows all.
Indiscriminate in its Finality.
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