They had nothing to give
To their motherland
Except their mortal lives
So they gave it cheerfully
Without a second thought
To see her wrinkled smile

These road on which we stand today
Were built upon layers of stone
And skulls of warriors great
This freedom wasn’t free
Of cost. Their debt we must pay.
Each and every day.

Two brothers fought
None won
Both lost
Freedom exacted a dear cost

As the clock struck twelve
On that August day
From heaven the martyrs cried
Their dream
Their struggle
For which they died
Was finally realized

The dawn was breaking
It was history in making
The charkha of time had turned
After so many years
A nation was waking
Up

Working martyrs of the boulevard un-ring bells
Over bleachers in heaven and box seats in hell
While the simple saints with time to serve
Just hold their hands up on all the curves

My blue Jesus take a look at me
And whisper to me what you see
Bind me up and draw me near
Make me strong enough to hear

Valhalla, land of martyrs, where
brave men come to rest their banners.
Hear the glorious call, beckoning,
for a thousand more await you in the hall of gods.
May you step into the light
with your sword at your side--
the blood on your hands speaks of victories untold
by the lives of mortals,
stories that will be sung
by the blades yet to swing and
warriors soon to be bred.
Rise, do not weep;
ascend, brother,
for the gates hewn by time welcome you.
Come forth in armor no more,
and we shall embrace you as the king
you have proven to be.
Worthy in all manner,
purest of heart, strongest of will,
forged from those beastly fires of heaven;
enter, and your reign shall never perish
under the withering storm of eternity.
Enter, and be remembered for yours, the legacy unforgotten.

Glancing again, what happened?
Why did they die?
Have they seen us, the poeple?
For whom they fought bravely
Holding hope, the only weapon
The only inspiration, dragged out

Then go through every aspects
Slavery, prison, torture, death
Or more, living worse than death

You can see how it turned well?
And still ruining the whole respect
Hell, we brought the laws, divided
Race, cast, religion, gender, wealth
Can you think about anything else
Done with it, where they left, we start

She said a prayer
to which I was not an answer
and yet I burned
until I burned myself out
like a candle on Shabbat.

And the words of her prayer ceased
and her lips were still
like the surface of the salt sea,
and yet I still burn
like a wound exposed below
the surface.

And the words of her prayer
went unanswered
like the cries of my martyred dead
and yet I still burn
like the silence of a candle remembering them.

I am female flotsam
Standing still
In the eye of the storm
Seeing signs and warnings
And hearing all the mourning

What will become of
My unborn son?
What will be his fate?
To be filled with spite
And swim in a sea
Of horror and hate,
To become an inhuman bomb

And his reward?
“With one hundred virgins
He will one day wed
In the eternal church”,
Thus say his unholy
Prophets

Sean Hunt
https://vimeo.com/162596231  
To be fully appreciated watch the short video

Heart moved that stands now still;
Don't mourn the new martyrs,
Remember the days when you were they.

Burning flame now drowned in ash;
Try not to weep at the war drums,
Keep quiet your dirges, and let them burn.

Forgotten child of the revolution;
They know not your suffering yet,
Hide the torn flag in the corner and sing along.

Scarred from beating and flogging
Left for dead by the tyranny of an Emperor  
But gifted life by the love of the King
In unmarked graves like poor peasant slaves
These people of God left only a forgotten story of heroism

They suffered for the cause of the Savior
Losing eyes and limbs for a cause greater than themselves
Persecution at the highest stakes
Death here on earth to attain love after
Martyred for all that is good and that is Holy

These saints, the ancient followers of the Messiah
Went unto their death for the sake of the Church
They were nailed to trees, burned while yet still breathing
They were eaten by wild animals, skinned alive
And still yet, the Church marched forward into Persecution

It was high time that the Church begun mourning
That the people of God began to cry out to God
Begging for His mercy, crying for justice
Requesting intercession from the great pain of their brothers and sisters
Praying the prayer of the Church; ‘Come Lord Jesus’

The citizens of this tyrannical empire became saints of Jesus Christ
Rome became the center of the Church of Christ
The people of God looking unto the Holy Father of Rome
To find good teaching of the Word of the Lord
Misled though they had become, the center of the Church on Earth lies in Rome

For two millennia saints of the Lord Christ have been martyred
By those who claim names other than the Lord
And by those who claim even the name of Christ
But the days of suffering have yet to end
And they will not end until we see the very face of God

For even on the very day of the feast of the Resurrection of our Lord
Twenty-one men, saints who had proclaimed the name of Christ
Served their purpose to give light and life to a darkened world
Even unto their deaths and the days and years following
For they saw the face of the risen Lord, Jesus Christ

We see on foreign shores our brothers in chains
Suffering for the cause of the Savior
For His Bride, the Church of Jesus Christ
We can see the suffering saints in chains and behind bars
And we can see them dying without food or water

We watched as our brothers bound by chains knelt on a seashore
Kneeling before the Lord Jesus Christ in faith and obedience to Him
But standing behind them the very hands of Satan
Attempting to dismember the Body of Jesus Christ
Oh what a pitiful, futile effort to dethrone our Risen Lord

The saints had their throats slit and heads removed from their very bodies
Their earthly lives ended for their faith in our Lord
What an absurd attempt to defeat the risen Christ
These hands of Satan vow to dismember the Church of Christ
But they will not be victorious over our Risen Lord

The lifeless bodies of these saints lay upon the sand of the shore and their souls lifted up
As if taking the heads of the saints of Christ brings upon more darkness
Only giving more truth and more life and light to darkened dying world
They may take the heads from individual saints
But they will never take the Head of the Body Of Jesus Christ

These murdered and martyred saints of Jesus Christ
Their blood pouring into the sea turning the ocean to blood
South of Rome, the city these hands of Satan vow to overthrow
The center of the Church on earth against whom they wage war
But attempt to overthrow our Lord, and you will be defeated

Is now not the time to lament?
Is now not the time for the Body of Christ to rise
And with one voice cry out to the heavens; ‘Come Lord Jesus!’
For now, just as all days past and to come,
The people of earth need the Savior

Perhaps the time has once again come to mourn
Perhaps the time has come for the Body of Christ to once again lament
To the east and the west, we hear terrible cries of terror
To the north and the south, we can see tears of despair
For once again, it has become ever-so obvious of our need of the Savior

Come Lord Jesus!

When muskets shattered bones within the chest,
an era slipped from time; new shadows born
where history cast its cape on Budapest.

Their fate entombed in honour; doom the guest.
No haven in their valour, loudly worn,
when muskets shattered bones within the chest.

The sabre steel lies dormant in its quest,
its master slain in scarlet fields of corn,
where history cast its cape on Budapest.

One leader freed; damnation for the rest.
Thirteen there stood; thirteen then shot at dawn,
when muskets shattered bones within the chest.

These Arad martyrs, ever standing lest
long centuries erode the passion borne
where history cast its cape on Budapest.

Glasses do not kiss, by grief’s request.
Laid quietly the ghosts that gently mourn
where muskets shattered bones within the chest
when history cast its cape on Budapest.