Oh rocking horse sitting beside my bed, where shall we journey today. With your wooden saddle a bright sunset Red and your golden reins in hand, I mount you and watch the world pass by as we thunder across sandy dunes and dash into the surf. Only to lead into the barren waste of the mighty desert and into an Oasis. Around and around we ride as you buck wildly as I try to tame your fierce nature, to the amusement and applause of a cheering crowd in a dusty rodeo. Each day is an adventure with you and a childhood dream come true.

Slivers of Silver and White dangle from frigid walls, moonlight shines bright through the clear frozen windows and bounces around the facets of the frozen jewels that adorn the spires and stairways. The ceiling shines like a thousand stars as each frozen Diamond bounces faint Blue light back down to the floor. Adorned in a gown of winter white, the princess of the frozen kingdom whirls around and dances in her winter dream. Deep in the frozen heart of the coldest places, she is adored and cherished. With eyes closed she feels the chill of her castle that will stand until the sun comes to reclaim it's own. Until then she will dream of life in her frozen palace of wonder.

I am flawed and not yet complete. I work very hard to be better, but I often fail. I am judgmental but I try not be. I can be cynical though it profits me nothing. I want to succeed but I am not sure what it looks like. I want to be a difference maker, but I cannot find where to start. I am a hot mess sometimes but I am trying to get that straightened out. I stumble because I keep falling into potholes, but I am fixing them as quickly as I can. Be patient with me and consider that we are more alike than you would admit. Please forgive my imperfections, I am a work in progress.

Words scrawled on a suicide note, written on a tear stained paper. The last mentions of a lonely and ignored soul. Laying in agony, ridiculed and misunderstood. The words were so simple, yet they would tear your heart into. The limp body laying beside the paper and pen, lifeless and blue. Only wanting to be acknowledged, only wanting to feel loved. The poor tortured soul now rest with the angels above. What could be so heart wrenching that could be written on a single piece of paper you see. With ever tear stained word, all that was said is please don't forget me.

I see a homeless man pushing a shopping cart. He talks to himself as he goes on. His clothes are torn and ragged, he looks straight ahead as I go by. I walk into a restaurant to have a bite to eat, I look out the window and gaze down the street. I see a woman with a small child by the hand, I almost cry as I see her digging through a garbage can. I listen to the radio on my way to where I live, I hear all of the complaining and people saying how bad it really is. I get close to my house and I pass under a bridge, I see a person laying in a cardboard box because he has no place to live. I think of all of the situations I see each and everyday. I bow my head and ask God why it must be this way. Then I remember that we all have choices to make. We can sit by and do nothing or do what it takes. A few dollars that we can spare or a kind word of encouragement you see. I then thank God for what I have, because I realize that could be me.

Monolithic trees standing silent as if frozen by time. Stone giants rising into the sky, reaching for something that I cannot see. Petrified remembrances of a time long past. A connection to what once was and may never be again. Animals run among the monuments and birds light upon their frozen limbs. The sun reflects off of their crystalline bark as I walk among them. So much is preserved and so much is forgotten, in the stone forest where petrified trees wait quietly for another day to pass.

The leaves change and turn the colors of the rainbow. The moon shines bright and the cool breeze makes lovers embrace a little closer. New families bundle their precious jewels of joy up snugly as they venture out into the waning sun. The nights come ever quicker and the stars seem to shine a little brighter. Hearts seem to grow more melancholy towards family and dear friends. New lovers find the harvest moon enticing as they wander off for time alone.  The world seems to settle a little away from the vibrant waves of summer, things take on a slower pace and a softer hue. Peace can be found in quiet stolen moments as love comes in the fall.

Is it divine, is it inspired, what is the Bible? A book written by stodgy old men long past their prime? Is it a fantasy the someone dreamed up to explain the unexplained?  Some say it is not real, others say it is just embellished history. In the truth of things it is a record of things that can and cannot be explained. The history of men and women who failed but found grace and were forgiven. The tales of imperfection that were left to give us guidance. A tome of hope and inspiration to any who are willing to believe. A book of logic and reason with wisdom of the failures of others. It is a book but many things in one, so what is the Bible to you?

Oh the roads I could have traveled and the things I could have done. What wonders I could have seen following the setting sun. How many women I could have known and what pleasures untold I could have enjoyed. The tales I would have been able to tell to any who would read about them. Yet in a moment, I found my heart captured by true love. All of the wild adventures melted away and the sun set without me to follow it. Under a bright moon surrounded by a thousand stars to bear witness, that is when I said yes to love and yes to spending my life with you.

A broken *** shattered and scattered into pieces that are strewn everywhere. Oil and water that cannot mix together and will not coexist. So are the ideologies of humanity, the things we think are important to us. That which we feel we must scream at another in order to get them to understand in truth is of little consequence. If one way is right and another wrong, then let them exist side by side and see which bears the fruit of success. If we cannot agree on even existence with tolerance, then we are a house divided and to null effect for we shall both come to nothing and fail in the end.

The crowds gathered around the hill where three men were hanged on a the cross. Two were paying for what they had done and one was not worthy of death, yet he was sentenced anyway. As the hung between two sinners, and innocent blood was shed, a list was blotted out by the Crimson stain. Between heaven and earth in anguish a price was paid and on that rugged tree sin was crossed out for all who would believe.

Standing in the street face to face with my brother, another person who I did not know. Holding the upper hand with my finger on the trigger. Trying to make it the only way I know, the split second made the difference for the rest of my life. One movement and then pop, the sound of thunder and lightning issuing from my clenched fist, holding taught around the grip of the gun. Like a slow motion sliver streak, the bullet hit it's mark. Tearing into the person who under the skin is my human brother. Down he fell into the gutter, another lost soul claimed as a victim of the drug trade. I hesitated for a moment, then grabbed what was mine and ran. Never looking back, only seeing the thing on T.V. ! Again and again it was played out until it became surreal. Trembling I sat in the dark like a rat trapped in a cage. The images of the look on his face frozen in my mind. The grainy images of the surveillance camera did not tell the whole tale. Details were left out so that the story that they wanted to tell could be written. A split second later and the tables would have been turned, my brother who was desperate had a gun too. If he had been quicker, then I would have been laying in the street. With no clues as to who did the deed, all they can say is it is another tragedy. What they do not know is who did this terrible thing. What they cannot realize is that all things have changed. A gun a split second and one shot changed it all for me and for the guy that is my brother under skin, who wanted to do to me what I had to do to him.

Hearts torn into pieces and emotions scattered asunder. The path lays strewn with shattered dreams. Crystal chandeliers light the way to glamor and fame, only to leave you cold from the light that is cast but that gives no warmth. Bits of people scream from the sides of the path that is filled with holes and sharp stones. Lives that were ripped to shreds when they fell apart on the way to the star of glory lay all around as the voices repeat the same thing. Beware of lofty dreams and take care for your heart. Love is a luxury and friendship is a rare commodity that is often traded for perceived happiness and worldly things. So is the way of life in the land of dreams, Hollywood where all that glitters is not gold and you are just one step away from losing it all.

You give me distant gazes as though you are looking through me. When I talk in a certain way you don't laugh like you used to. Our special moments seem like we are going through the motions. Just as the seasons change so have you changed to me. More and more you find ways to not see me and when you do it is as if you are not there. I must accept that your heart is gone but your body is still here, so I will have to learn to just let you go.

Let all knees bend and all tongues confess the glorious name of the holy lamb! Let everyone give adoration and exaltation to the king of kings. Let all of creation sing in one accord to the father who sent his only son. Let every heart open and find his peace and accept his sacrifice. Let all who will accept his gift and receive eternal life. Let all look towards the East and lift up Christ holy name, let all who will humble themselves and let us pray.

A nation divided on principal, torn apart by ideology. Hate is rampant in the streets as one groups says give me give me give me and another says you want too much. Success is punished and hard work is discouraged. People go hungry and ****** is everywhere, children find role models on T.V. and not in the home. With each thing declared a world ending crisis, who knows the truth anymore. What is the end game of the puppet masters and who is really to blame?

Vines running everywhere, with corn stalks bundled in heaps. Orang orbs glowing in the sun as they begin to ripen. Bouncing among the hills of Pumpkins waiting to be pulled off the vine. Imaginations run wild as to what might be made of them. A Jack O' Lantern or home made pies. Pumpkin spice punch or cookies perhaps. The world is alive with the colors of wondering as harvest time comes to the Pumpkin patch.

Working with my hands I peel away the layers of grit and dirt. I pull out the parts that are worn and pitted. I pull away the age and polish the pieces until they begin to shine. I see what was and what can be, looking past the outer wear and decay. When other see a simple lump, I see the true beauty that lies within. The piece speaks to me and whispers what it wants to become. So with fingers of determined labor and an insight that few are willing to discipline themselves to obtain, I work tirelessly to produce the masterpiece. Whether it is an engine or a block of stone, the sculpture and the piece are always joined in a spiritual way as the hands do not create the thing, they simply tear away the unwanted piece to reveals what has always been there.

We are both unique like two snowflakes yet we merge and come together like the winter. The cold is joined to the season as we are joined to each other. When we are together our passion sparkles like the glistening of new formed ice drops on barren trees. We dance as snow swirls that are blown up by the wind. We are content as a wild Hare safe in it's lair. Our love is miraculous like a clear winter sky where all of the stars can be seen. What a wonder I have found in you, my perfect match, the keeper of my soul, the love I know in winter.

A thorny thing a beautiful Rose, like love it is filled with pricking barbs . To get to it's sweet petals, you must first avoid the small irritating  ******. So is love like a Rose, it can pierce and sting.

She smiles sheepishly yet nothing seems amiss. She glows from having been in bliss. She found out how it feels to love in one short hour. She considers herself a woman now that she has lost her flower.

Hair that curls and kinks all around her rounded face. Full supple lips with deep set dark eyes. Cheeks that merge delicately with the curve of her face. Long slender arms with finely honed finger tips. Strength in her hands and desire in her dark breast. A curvy subtle form that looks like an Ebony statue in the moonlight. A soft whispering voice that melts the inhibitions of a mans heart. A body receptive to his passion and ready to receive his strength. A seductress that walks delicately but with strength. What a treasure this dark beauty is to posses.

Crystal ****, Crack *******, all of it is like a bullet to the brain. Living by the law of the gun, making money on the run. Millions flow into the banks, the people don't ask where it comes from. They just take their cut and then they move on. The bodies lay cold in the street, a 9mm or a pipe it doesn't matter which. The victims are just as dead. Leaving parentless children looking to be fed. The street breeds them, it is the way they live. Handouts only go so far, they see what is on T.V. the clothes and the fancy cars. I once was the same, then I got caught up in the game. Slinging on a corner just to make the rent, now I got more money than 50 cent. Gold and jewels I buy by the car load. The finest hotels and beautiful women who will sell their soul. You cannot tell me what money can't buy, my only limit seems to be the sky. So now I am standing on my own building like Donald Trump, I look at the billionaire next door and say hey dog whas up. I see all of the little people down below, ******* on a pipe or shooting up blow. Built on the despair and protected by guns for hire, I sit as the king of a drug empire!

Flailing about hap hazardously, I writhe as I suffocate. I was swimming in my own pond until I was plucked from it. Now I am high and dry in an emotional waste land. A world where I do not know which direction the current is flowing. I cannot get my bearings so I am drying out and withering as I struggle to breathe. Flopping about I flounder as I work hard to get back into my emotional pond where it is nice and safe.

I pull and tear at the shroud that wraps me. Claw and gouge at it until it breaks open. Like a cocoon that keeps a Butterfly, I tear at the shell that binds me. I am too constricted and my wings cannot find the sun. I want to feel the warmth of a new thing and become something other than I am supposed to be. So I struggle to shed my skin that has kept me closed up for too long. I want to know other people and to be as they are. I want to express myself and let my ideas flow, but none of this can happen unless I am willing to fight and grow beyond my own skin.

Words are tools in the box of the wordsmith. They can inspire person to great acts of kindness or cruelty. The can cut deeper than the sharpest blade or can bring the greatest joy. They can move people to heroics or cause people to cringe in fear. They can inspire a revolution or bring people together in ways not yet imagined. Words can come alive or lay flat and be dead. They can set a person free or imprison them body mind and soul. In all things words have power, but not all ever realize how to harness that power. While some are born with a greater gift for mastering the words than others, all can learn to use words effectively. They can be tools or weapons, bridges or divisive walls that separate us. It is up to us to see the power of word and to use that power wisely or not.

I look at the colors in the window of a small chapel. I see the image of a man kneeling by a rock. I look as the sunlight drifts through and highlights the dust that swirls in the air. I sit here silently beneath the colorful shadow looking for answers. I see that my life is like the window, full of different shades and hues. Some are darker than others and they do not always fit precisely together. Just as the image of the man kneeling by the rock is not a precise one. So I look at the image and I ask how he does it, sitting there day in and day out. As if the glass could speak to me, I just sit with longing wishing I were the stained glass window. A transparent fixture through which people could see dimly not feeling or caring what others think, just an image for people to admire and something to collect dust and not feel a thing.

Ding I heard the chime. I went to my computer and saw the first line. Subject, we are done. How cruel is that, no it is a lot of fun. The break up was fast and clean, cleaner than an elective surgery. It simply said I can't do this anymore, it is not you it is me. A sad face beside the message, so I hacked into her computer to see what was really going on. I found all of her messages and all she said about me. I found some rather nasty videos that she would never let me see, but she was talking to some guy from Fresno and he got them in her video chat. I decided why the hell not and so that was that. I put all of her business online for all the world to see. On face book, twitter and Instagram were just a few places you see. Then I moved on to YouTube and got a million views. What do you know she is a **** star and doesn't even know it yet. So anonymous post to anonymous upload, I cover my trail and to think that all her trouble began when it came to me in an email.

Strutting like a feline arrayed in her golden furs. Her shapely legs lead to her delicate thighs. Her stockings are seamless as she walks in high heels. Her Emerald Green eyes flicker with fire. Her claws are sharp and she is cunning. She can move light on her feet and dance the night away. If you rub her right then she will purr for you. She is very subtle in all of her ways. She likes to lounge around in the daytime and at night she loves to come out and play. She wears sparkling jewels like a high priced collar and drinks the finest Champaign. She loves to snuggle up close to you and can take your breathe away. Just listen to her as she sings for you, her voice will lull you into her hands. She will dazzle you with her feline wiles and entice you to come and play with her. She is a mischievous darling, the one that you won't want to let get away. So stroke her gently and listen to her growl. You will find few women like this one, she is the cat's meow.

Down a dimly lit side street filled with potholes and broken limbs. The smell of laundry and grease filled the air. When you would ride your bicycle down the road, the dogs would bark at you and snap at your tires. The old men would sit in front of the garage and laugh at you in hopes that you might hit a *** hole and take a tumble off of your bicycle. If you did the dogs would be upon you, they would mostly lick you and tear at your clothes. Then they would leave their mark on your bent and broken bicycle as they went off to find another way to amuse themselves. In the heat of the day they would lounge under old rusted out cars and in the evening chase you for fun. At night they would run down some back alley and chase a stray cat before rifling through the garbage of some apartment building. Between two main boulevards 8th street went. A side ways path that seemed to lead through nowhere and anywhere. Always filled with the strays of life, dogs and people alike.

Mentally blocked and trying to express myself, I feel as though the lines have captured me. Between one sentence and a phrase, I have lost what I wanted to say. The words refuse to come to me, they elude my pen and my tongue. I can neither write or speak so I am trapped in a web of my own design. I am caught between the words and unable to formulate what else that I have to say.

As the wicked become more prevalent and righteousness is replaced with Godlessness, we shall see judgment perverted. When that which is evil is called good and the good is despised, we shall be scorned and cast out for him. When we speak truth and righteousness and it is replaced with lies, we shall suffer for what we say. When we speak his holy name, and they revile us, we shall be hated among all peoples. Though we are outcast from the world, we shall one day be welcomed home. By the one for whom we stood and suffered, Jesus is his name.

The light walked among us then it went away, but it said that it's power would remain. In each of us lives the potential to shine out through the darkness. As Christ was the light, so he gave us his spirit to shine for him. When he ascended, he said you are not the light of the world, let it shine for all to see. So indeed we are the light.

My guts are wrenching and I feel sick. I want to heave up what is inside me, but I did not consume it. The thing that is causing me such pain was forced upon me. It was slammed into my guts and hit me hard. Like the force of a sledge hammer I was doubled over. You told me that you would love me forever then you tore that love away. Now I am left with the unsavory pain of the loss you forced upon me. I want to get it out, but my soul is torn asunder. My heart is wounded and I am bleeding on the inside. Like a demon born of hell, these feelings tear at my insides. I cannot stop the pain or exercise the evil that has possessed me. So for now I will just lay here and quietly writhe in pain as I find a way to cope with the devastation you have placed upon me.

Snow falls around me like delicate jewels, each flake unique in it's design. The Evergreen trees are covered with small frozen droplets of water, the scent of Spruce and Pine fill the air. The ground is cold and frozen beneath  my feet. The ice and frozen leaves crunch and pop as I walk. Squirrels stick their heads out of their holes only to duck back in again. The cold breeze cuts through me, making my cheeks and nose a rosy red. I twirl and fall into a snow bank, as I look up into the Steel Grey sky. Taking in the wonders of the season, I enjoy the serenity of the cold and barren landscape. For a moment the world is at rest as winter plies it's trade. Some things die off and others just sleep a while waiting for the sun to shine again. My soul is lifted up and filled with joy as the quiet overwhelms me. I rise from the white carpet that covers a bank and dust myself off and continue on my winter walk that I have waited so long to take.

With a heart that has been shattered and rebuilt to many times, I now move on. With hopes that have been cast aside and reborn I now go my way. With sorrow as my only friend, I now go into that good night. With nothing left to offer and no sacrifices left to make, I lay down my banner. Having been battered and beaten by life's battles and worn out and weighted down by the journey, I now surrender. The fight is over and the enemy has won the day. Love has been lost and hope is a foreign language that I no longer speak. I cannot live, I can only exist. The earth is salted with my weeping and the hollows echo with my wails. Now at the end of everything I leave the fight. With nothing left to hold me back, I relinquish all desire to start over. I shall simply limp away with what dignity I can muster and no more answer compassion's call. Let each person do as they will and find what ever comfort they can, for I have no love or mercy to give. With an utter longing for the curtain to fall and the veil of night to find me, I go away broken and defeated, for I have no more tears to cry.

A loaf of bread takes a lot of effort to make. Finding the grains and crushing each seed to release what lies within. Then sifting the meal that comes from the grain, until it is refined. Depending on what kind of bread you want, you may blend many types of meal from many different types of grains. Once this is done, you can begin to make bread. Adding water and yeast to the meal more commonly known as flower begins the process. The doe is kneaded and tossed until it reaches the right consistency. The doe must then be given a chance to sit until the yeast has become active and makes the doe rise. Once this is accomplished, the doe is placed on or in a pan and put into a very hot oven. There the doe cooks until it is done and the bread is made. What seems to be a simple thing takes a great many steps to create something that is enjoyable and delicious. Why do we expect life to be any less complicated than making bread? Why can't we all be more like the bread and have so much in common as we all come from the basic seeds of humanity, we are just different in some ways, but can blend ourselves to make something wonderful?

Puppet masters pull the strings as we marionettes dance to their tune. Cohesion is the enemy of control and unity is unwanted. Division is the key to managing the masses. Keep one envious of the other and two diametrically oppose to a third. Round and round the Carousel of division goes. When you try to step off, and cut your strings, you are pulled back in by a stronger piece of twine. Poverty, want, hate are all the tools of the puppet masters. These are what divides us, but what is it that will truly unite us?

Crystal lights adorn the walls as Peacocks fan with their tails in full display. I walk barefoot over golden cobble stones and stand on marble stair cases. I wave my hand and light flies from my fingertips. Glistening sparks dance from my hand and form unusual shapes. I step on to a platform made of Black hewn stone that is smooth and cold beneath my feet. As I begin to rise into the heights of the mysterious world I am sure it is a dream. Then I see spires of castles made of pure White stone reaching through portals to other places I have yet to explore and I pinch myself but do not awake, then I wonder is it really a dream or have I always been here and I am only now waking up to the reality and wonder of the world in which I truly live.

Patients and time with caring and understanding, slowly the thing crystalizes. Taking form under pressure and anticipation, it grows . Some Gems form quicker than others, but the rarest ones may take a lifetime. A Jewel called love is a precious stone indeed and is not easily found and once obtained is fiercely guarded against any who might want to steal it away.

Feelings mingled with fire burn the skies blood Red! The bridal bed forsaken, the groom lies dead! White turned to Crimson before the wedded bliss was sealed! She never agreed to be a part in this deal! So now she flees the wrath of those who would hunt her down! Still filled with rage, she sheds her clothing like a second skin. Baring all for the world to see, she jumps into the sea. Behind her lays revenge and sorrow, fueled by rage she seeks her own tomorrow! No bargain will determine her fate! If it is death then so be it, but vengeance will have to wait! Born again across another border, she climbs out of the chilling water beyond the reach of her persecutors! Into the arms of a waiting true love, he takes her to a secret place and there a bond is made! Ever should he show her his loyalty, lest he feels the wrath of a scorned woman's blade!

Stick me, ***** me, make me bleed. **** my pain, take away my loneliness and give me good feelings again. Find a vein and pierce it, let the hot mixture flow and wash away from me my sorrow. You sit there while I get high and try to escape the melon collie of my dull and dreary life. Though you leave your mark on me and some say you will be the death of me, you are the only thing that keeps me going. So let your sharp barbed tip keep making love to me and bringing me even further from the insanity that is call normality. I do not care that you may be my end, right now you are my only true friend, so stick around for a while and let's have a good time.

Stains on the window are Crimson, the sky is Silver and Blue. Dried grass moves in the wind as half dead Golden Rods fade away. Dry leaves crackle as the wind picks them up and tosses them around. The boards creak as I move barefoot across the floor. The dust settles as I sit down at the table alone. A Raven calls from a tree barren and withered. A dark messenger sent to bear my soul away, though I am not yet ready to depart. My eyes are dark and red, the rings around them tell a tale of little sleep while the red lines show the tears that have fallen like a cold winter rain. I drink dark and half warm bitter coffee, as I languish a little bit longer and brood on the pain that your leaving has caused me.

Bleak sand and Grey rocks form a beach and a jetty. Salt spray washes up as it meets the barrier of the land. The cold wind sweeps in and forces couples to huddle close. The dark sky heralds the coming storm. Snow falls from the heavens and begins to blow with the wind. Ships bear the brunt of the early winter. Summer has forsaken the coast and retreated. Now only the hearty stand here. Standing firm is not for the faint of heart. Stone cottages stand empty except for those who were born here. The light house stands as a solemn sentry against danger as the waves thunder and crash. Nature is no longer kind, but for any who will dare, life can be exciting when the costal winter comes.

Up the veins the blade goes. Down the skin the steel runs. Cold and unforgiving, yet erotically tantalizing. Just a little break, not too deep but enough to let the blood gently flow. With eyes closed and the pain running out of me, I feel alive with each piercing. With each cut I walk closer to the edge and I am able to accept more of my own mortality and forget about the pain that you caused me when you killed my love for you.

Meticulously pulling at each thread, letting the scissors slide through the fabric. Pulling the seams together and snipping the loose ends. Drawing the needle and the thread through each piece and cutting again here and there. Placing the essence of ones soul into a creation, making a piece worthy of royalty. Preparing the best for someone to adore and cherish, such is the way of an artisan who gives what is in themselves to create a work of art from cloth and twine.

Chips fall away from the stone as it is cracked and chiseled into what I am not sure. Each piece is whittled away as I dig into the Marble. Lines begin to emerge and a from takes shape. I listen to the stone as it tells me what it wants to be.

A rusted and forgotten car sits under an old tarp. Years and age have taken their toll. Someone looks at it and sees just a piece of scrap, but to the certain someone, they see what it can eventually be. With a lot of patients and hard work, they see a diamond in the rough. As is often the case with people, we judge what is on the surface, but do not see the potential that lies beneath. With guidance, patients and hard work, people too can be turned into something brilliant. It is often these special qualities that lie beneath the surface that others do not see.

From the cup of redemption I shall partake. Through the true vine I shall be pressed in the vat. The wine of mercy shall flow from the grapes of the cluster that comes from the vine of salvation. Grafted into the vineyard as a wild cutting, I was made part of the true vine. By the hand of the husbandman who keeps the vineyard, shall the new wine be pressed. From the cup of this I shall partake in remembrance of he that died and was resurrected. I shall drink of the vine at his table, when he returns to bring salvation to me.

The world is full of riches, but they are held by only a few. The many are left to fend for themselves. There is little in the way of equality as greed and avarice blinds the eyes and stains the hearts of people. Many would be king and think they know best, only to find that it must be by the sword that they rule. Then war and poverty scar the landscape as many die for no cause other than they do not believe as a would be monarch. In truth there is life in abundance, and it is we the people who stamp it out for our own selfish ends.