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Samm Marie Jul 2016
Freedom and independence are not synonymous
We have many freedoms
But zero independence
Independence is freedom
Freedom is not independence
What we celebrate is a false holiday
It's a cheap *** excuse to drink
And set **** aflame
What we celebrate is a false holiday
Once meant to portray
Our braking away
What we celebrate is a false holiday
That makes life seem like a joke
Because we've conformed too much
I have the freedom to say whatever
I **** well feel like
But I am not independent from fear
Or tyranny
This is America
Land of the stupid
Home of hatred
Everywhere I turn I see
Persecution
Oppression
For religion, ***, and race
For orientations and confusions
For thought and for ideas
This is America
Not some fluffy dreamland
Like so many of us make it out to be
Yes I will be ready to admit
We are certainly freer than most
And yes, I will be ready to defend
My country with my words
But I can't sit on the sidelines
And just watch as my land falls to ****
"Happy Independence Day"
It breaks my heart that we have to declare a day
To recognize independence
It's a false independence we celebrate
I love the fireworks and the lightheartedness of it all
But it's *******
We shouldn't have to label a day
On a calendar
For historical emphasis
Woohoo Declaration of Independence
And all that jazz
But it no longer seems that way
Equality has never existed
This America, not an Aboriginal society
Pursuit of happiness is impossible
Because one person's happiness destroys another's
Liberty and justice for all?
Yeah right
Happy Independence Day to all who believe
But as for me
Independence my ***
Sorry this is so long and winded
Bianca Reyes Feb 2016
My heart was found guilty
Of witchcraft by my brain
He dragged her and beat her
Spewed his hatred for her
Tied her to a wooden stake

My brain couldn't comprehend
The magic of my heart
Why she never wavered
How she always loved
He started this persecution
Because he couldn't understand

I always felt her growing
Beautifully and powerfully
With every beat she won me over
All I did was want to protect her
But my brain called it heresy

My punishment was to watch
As he burned her alive
I heard the shrieks of hope die
The smell of her love stung
My nostrils and it haunts me still

I walk around pretending
As if nothing had ever happened
My brain condemned me to live
This life without my heart
Without the love and only
With the memory of that night

Every day I burn like she did
As every day I hate like he did
I was unable to convince him
That she just wanted to love
But my brain was too afraid
Of the powers of my heart
Shared on Hello Poetry on February 1, 2016
Copywrite under Bianca Reyes
All rights reserved

Blah blah blah
Enjoy!
Jenelle May 2014
Social Injustice;
from ****** to ****
from kidnapping to ******
all these things our society does best

How cold can you get?
How do you sleep with yourself?
Is your heart at rest?
Do you ever not regret?

We are the reason our nation is corrupt
We are the reason God looks down on us
I know they say God never changes
and will always be compassionate
But what if God gets fed up and turns his back on us?

Over-taxation!
Why do we have to pay so much for the food we need?

Extortion!
Why does the poor pay for the rich to eat?

Religious Persecution!
When did religion become a war of better denomination?

Police Brutality!
This grows each and everyday
Why are we being physically, mentally and emotionally abused by our 'protectors'?
What about the mothers that cry for their children?
All our prayers in vain
You even **** newborn babies,
souls die without a name

Where is your shame?
Do you feel no pain?
Society, we are sure to perish,
if these social injustices remain the same...

*writers: Jenelle and Anise
David Barr Nov 2013
In the face of persecution, one can drift away into dreamy fabrications of swishing and gorgeous hairstyles – jealous of the seagull as it dismounts the lofty perch of the streetlight and gracefully swoops away into the distance.
The moment of self-loathing and raging sabotage is nothing more than a serial false loyalty.
I validate your alphabet where there is simplicity within the intricate complexities, and where the yearling suckles the lactations of its mother.
Trauma has pre-natal connections where silent screams ripple throughout eternity. Therefore, calmly observe the stiff upper lip of deluded professionalism, and describe the realistic mirage before you. Participation in laughter is not always rooted in sincerity.
lil silver Nov 2013
I saw... I saw how you broke the strongest person I know. How you made her fall to her knees. You'll never know how her cries haunt me to this day. "Never trust...keep them away...walls" these thoughts ran and still run through my head. Over and over like a broken record that's beginning to shred my sanity. Look at what you've done.
I can't understand how you can walk in here like you've done nothing wrong. Do you feel no guilt? Does the fact that you crushed her mean anything to you?
But no, you're right, you always are. Your excuses will always defy logic while you manipulate all your wants to seem right, proving us wrong. Your hypocrisy shreds all other insanities.
Will you ever know how when you broke her you shattered me? These scars I have, the scars I hide, they came from you always reminding me what happens when I trust someone.
Own this, take responsibility. You boast about your accomplishments already, so why not this? Because it might ruin your image, show the rest that your not all they perceive you to be. Or will it hurt your ego to know that you've done wrong.
Because of you I play it safe. Not trusting those around me with my thoughts, emotions, heart... But thats how you wanted it, isn't it. For me to not trust.
You know, I find it funny that you wonder why I try pulling away harder every time you tighten my leash. Yeah its ironic how I don't want to come to you when all I get are the verbal smacks of what a terrible person i am, of all I do wrong, of how disappointed you are that I'm not better.
But I'm done, I'm not a dog and I refuse to let you dictate this part of my life. I'm human. I'm allowed flaws, opinions, and imperfections. These scars, they make me beautiful. They're battle I've fought, that I've won. So i refuse not to trust, because not everyone judges me the way you do. I refuse... I refuse to be refused my rights as a human being and I refuse to deny everything that makes me, me.
So here, take it back. Take it all back. All the lies, false promises, persecution,denial,hate...take it back, all the blows you gave me. All the cracks to my body while I cried for you to stop, but prayed you wouldn't so that you would not see the little boy I was hiding in the corner.
You know, I'm standing here right now broken, busted but I am not defeated. I will never let you hold me down. Because...because I'm worth it. I'm worth all the dreams I have, all the hopes I carry and all the love given to me. And for all those people like me, so are you.
Brady D Friedkin Jun 2016
Exiled for three hundred years
Without limbs, missing eyes, and unseen sins
The Church of Jesus Christ had been laid waste
Quietly living under the heavy boot of Roman Persecution
The bloodied Bride standing in Babylon waiting for her Groom

Hundreds of years prior, deep in the memory of the ancient past
Lay God Incarnate, dead in a tomb
Suffering for the sake of His very Bride
So too now does His wife lay dying
The Church being dismembered for His very sake

Three hundred years of darkness and exile
Separated from brothers and sisters by tyranny
Under duress and suffering inflicted by Rome
Until came an Emperor and a vacation home
To defeat the terror and end an exile

Constantine saw the Son of God and was granted victory in battle
Ushering in new peace and edicts to end the centuries of persecution
The Church of Jesus Christ was finally reunited and reconciled
For the Winter had passed, the night was over
The Spring had finally come, and the sun shone like the flaming tongues at Pentecost

Bishops and priests, pastors and deacons, fathers and sons; they descended upon Nicaea
Men with lost limbs and erased eyes, with restless wounds and sinister sins; they came
To reunite the Body of Christ, to define the Church for the life of the world
To remember what had been forgotten, and forget that ought which not be remembered
These men of God came to Nicaea to re-establish that from which they had previously departed

Confirming the core beliefs of the Body of Christ; the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth
The Lord Jesus Christ, the only Son of God, made man Incarnate from the Blessed ******
And in the Spirit of God, the Lord the giver of life
In one holy, catholic, and apostolic Church
Existent for the sake of the life of the world

Broken they came, united they left
Exiled they were, one Church they became
When our spiritual fathers came upon the little town of Nicaea
And remembered the Church they had long forgotten that they were
He was taken into custody on Friday
After he got off a bus in Marseille
That had come from Amsterdam
By way of Brussels,
According to police.
The manhunt began
After he opened fire
At the Jewish Museum
In the center of Brussels,
Killing at least 3 people,
Obviously: an anti-Semitic attack.
He was taken into custody
“As soon as he set foot in France,”
According to François Hollande,
Congratulating himself
For an efficient round up of
The usual suspects, all Jihadi
Round trippers from Syria.
He was taken into custody in a mere 6 days--
A magnifique display of French efficiency,
A sublime achievement by
Our furry friends in
Police-Protective Services.
The swarthy perp was carrying a Kalashnikov--
That’s AK-47 for you NRA gun nuts--
A handgun, ammunition, a baseball cap,
A small video recording device, and a
Copy of The Koran,
All items matching
Descriptions of the gunman,
And, even if not, a known-terrorist
Named Mahdi bin Laden,
Carrying an assault rifle
Would have been enough
To fit the profile,
Justify the profiling,
Sufficient to stop anyone
Passing through Customs,
Except, of course
The French Corps Diplomatique,
Wreaking most of the havoc in the EU these days.
There was once a time when any Thom, Dieter or Heine
Could get outta town on a ratline,
Blessed by the Pope,
Assisted by the OSS.
A white linen suit and a Panama hat:
Was all it took any Schutzstaffel
To pull off another Argentine makeover,
Melt into the landscape,
Speaking Spanish with a thick German brogue.
It’s nice to know
Jew persecution is criminal,
Socially frowned on these days.
Kara Jean May 2016
A calamity of views abused
When the alcohol is strong
The choices go wrong
Everyones offend through Misinterpreted temptation
Using my over analyzing brain to calm the degraded
Crying over a mundane sane
Looking for persuasion
Through persecution
Picking out your weaknesses
Bleakness, is a majestic trait
Not intentionally
Burdening their agony
My name is animosity
I depict a character that sympathizes
Your alibies
Using my vulnerability
Contaminated humility
Finding
The hiding
No problem suggesting
My dark secrets of the night
Applying my skits that fit right
Paranoid to be viewed in a mortifying light
I would be lying denying my animalistic ride
I have scrutinized
Remorsing
I see earth born
Godly you stand
In the morning
Behold deformities
You fit the norm
I bow to your Godly proportion
In vein this I pray
Amen
Noah May 2011
raise the glass high high high and press hard high,
a blue and cherry ring round rosy thigh,
snapped red sting of infected eye and tooth strung on string.
broken wing crunches, candid cries let tears fly
in desperate persecution.
red
sticky red and beautiful
flesh-fly's food becomes a diamond wing,
flying in swirling skies of glitter.
The world looks better through a kaleidoscope.

claw the eyes out out out and spit stress out,
a crooked view on nose and cheeks and pout
deep blue rows on distended snout as swollen skin grows.
drunken woes crunch and broken knuckles shout
in hasty intemperance.
blue
puffy blue and beautiful
deep stout bruises becomes a diamond glow
spinning in burst vein's woes of glitter.
The world looks better through a kaleidoscope.

dump the body down down down and pat dirt down,
a stealthy sin of spite and muddy frown,
**** green sight of a ***** crown hidden in the night.
swirls of light break thoughts up to run around
in crude decomposition.
green
sickly green and beautiful
dirt-drowned flesh becomes diamond sprites,
dancing in wormy gowns of glitter.
The world looks better through a kaleidoscope.
Mary McCray Apr 2015
(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 5, 2015)

An effect in which incompetent people fail to realize they are incompetent because they lack the skill to distinguish between competence and incompetence. Actual competence may weaken self-confidence as competent individuals may falsely assume that others have an equivalent understanding.

Who among us know who among us?
Who worries the cracks in the levy?
The suffering know. They bear the smart
of all judgments: as they know themselves,
as they know others.  While fools
blissfully devastate the latticework
of our perfections.

The Pope advocates peace for Resurrection Day,
and end to the persecution, and by the way
he means  the Kenyan dead not Christmas signage
in America. Too many opinions

will make you blind. A competent madness,
a fear of failure: songless, unable to dance,
unable to praise the dead, restore to life
the mind of the beginner who does not yet know
yet who will be grateful to know
that competence saves lives
but will it save you?
Andrew Rueter Jul 2017
My tires went over the cracks in the road
As I drove by people standing on the sidewalk
Exchanging words, emotions, dreams
I passed them on my way to the cul-de-sac
To exchange money, drugs, humanity
The pedestrians penetrated me
With piercing eyes of persecution
They thought they hated me for being there
But their hatred is what led me there
They injected hatred into my life
The way I injected ****** into my arm
They injected banality into my life
The way I injected ****** into my brain
They injected austerity into my life
The way I injected ****** into my heart
They prayed that my sedation was of a more permanent nature
Before that they prayed for the permanent sedation
of my ****** nature
Wanting me to be fully awake
But not fully alive
They snuck into my mind
And exchanged emotions with emptiness
I snuck into their house
And exchanged furniture with emptiness
They exchanged words with the police
Who exchanged my freedom
For everyone else's peace of mind
But the exchange between the excommunicated
Exacerbated my exiled existence
The steel bars placed before me
Paled in comparison
To the bars that surrounded my heart
And faded from memory
When the Xanax bars entered my system
Until I couldn't walk anymore
Making me Professor X
Hiding out with the other mutants
Trying to lecture the world
That zombies turn to demons
If the exchange isn't examined
When they exit their enclosure
Sidewalk standers turn to explanations more elementary
Eliminating empathy
While elevating themselves above us
This is the epitome of our exchange
I haven't told you what you mean to me lately
Perhaps I have forgotten
or didn't have time
I hope you don't think I don't love you anymore
Because I do

You may not realize how much as of late
Seems fate has played some tricks on us
Now it is time to let you know
Just how much I don't want you to go

I appreciate how you take care of me
Love how you are so sure of things
You handle our problems so easily
Making life much better for all of us

I love your smile even when I am not smiling
The feel of your arms holding me
When I don't feel worthy of being held
How you sense my mood even when I don't
You stay with me
When another would have left

I just want you to know
That you mean the world to me
I feel so secure when you hold me
The weight of the world disappears off my shoulders

How much you lift me up
When life has kicked me down again
I am sorry I forgot to say
I love you today
You are so selfless
Providing for us in every way


I know we will survive anything
Judgement, persecution, and the seemingly unfairness in the world
Why?
Because of our love for one another
Hey Love
Just wanting you to know
I return what you give a hundred fold

When you doubt how I feel
Please remind me
Trust that I have not stopped returning your love
If you doubt again
Please please just ask

Hey Love
I love you

All rights reserved 2012
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Poetry Round (find your self within)

We sit together in spirit, if not in body,
You join me in the Poet's Nook,
A few frayed and weathered Adirondack chairs
Overlooking the Peconic Bay,
Where inspiration glazes over the water,
And we drown happily in a sea of words,
Commencing:

You say unto me, whitecaps, I reply,

"Solitary swimmers, poets, arms crooked over head, in the sea of us"

I say flooded with gratitude, and Stephanie replies,

"Thou art my carved destiny-and the river that permits my blood to flood...And all this noise shall fall into poetry; Which every day grows statelier and comelier.

You say to us Moonlight, and we laugh, delighted, for she has given us

"This love can be ours,
Under the iridescent moonlight
Embraced within one another,
To live for an eternity,
Languid and soft"


Someone calls out Bala,
And Vicarpio Gale favors us with his words,

"a poetic rain, in small print, fills the white sky page"

And we pray nightly, that come next morn, he will rain upon us once again

We pretend it is night and there are
Stars to Touch,  but this poet of pax corrects us and writes, t'is but,

"late afternoon sun slanting
behold, jaune compassion
alfalfa ocherous leans willowy in wind
distance of silence yearns on
afternoon shadows lie within majestic vales"


Who is it that calls out
Have Mercie  B.e  upon us,
for she reminds us of what we B.e tasked individually,

"Provoking ideas and intoxicating imagery overflow from within and yet somehow you can't see.  There are dreams that run wild inside of this heart and there is no way I'll let them be tamed"

Sunshineflowers every where,
But even more beautiful when she coaxes us to laugh
at ourselves
when writing of true love,

"Why don't i have bananas, said the monkey.
The tiger said, because you are my soulmate"


Did you C Holmes reminding us that

"when you're certain you've
painted the next Van Gogh
with the swirls and gusts
of blues so pure,
any mortal would
stop stare & lose track of time?"


Fyi, Fyi,

"Her callous persecution insinuates,
The elusive flaws of humanity and life,
It implicitly elucidates,
The sombre reality"


About certain Angels  was writ, that both in heaven and on earth, she was garbed, for

"She wore an air of mysticism
Her memory bore prophetic visions
From ancient egyptian
And judaic traditions
She knows every star system
And every night is a mission
Where she wishes and wishes
For help from the legends"


Emily  has met an unwanted friend, familiar to all of us,

"Cemented shoes
And silenced talk
It's even hard to describe
Writer's block"


Sara B.  from B'kara, that's in Malta, gives advice most sensible,

"Times they are a changing
make everybody feel blue
just turn up the music
and forget what you're supposed to do"


Victor  claims not to be a

"poet, a musician even less
but I may be kind of a beggar
when I beg of you
don't forget me
or let your music fade out
of my rainy days"


Dare I disagree? **** right I do!

Little RedWritingHood,  from my city hails, so wise, far beyond her years, reveals that,

"people try to
make me see reason
or their definition of it
but reason is relative
as is too much in this world"


Should I go on? Why not!

Something's are ForeverMarvelous,  like

"Hurt is fading
Fists are pumping
Bass is trembling
Some are hating-
But I keep dancing"


mybarefootdrives  me forward because

"every seed of thought
starts itself out like a whisper.
Until weight behind words
allows them to stand on their own merit"


Maria GH  could be an old friend, who

"draws me near,
it's slender form bleeding into
the background.
Slowly, kindly,
it extends a hand and
I take it
as to forever hold comfort
in mine"


Andy from Mombasa, your poetry

"conspires to purge me of my sense of reasoning
Leaving me bare to suffer the perils of an incongruous world"

And I am a better poet for it...

Brendan'  I've watched your words,

"Crack the veil of tired souls
cloaked in lonely sorrows,
broken by faithless wanderings,
and feel the strings course through your veins"


I am blindsided and Blastsided  when I read

"Onomatopoeia
I love words
for their meanings
their woven tapestries
but also
for their taste"

For I know exactly what you mean

I am exhausted. So many gems to decorate
My body, my soul. I must stop here,
So many of you have reached out, none of you overlooked.

Overwhelmed, let us sit together now
And celebrate the silence that comes after the
Gasp, the sigh, that the words have taken from
Our selves, from within.

Once again, in your debt.
If I could do nothing more but write your names, I would be endowed with thousand more poems.
OOPs, occurs to me someone may not like my excerpting their work, so let me know if its a problem and will edit....hopefully not and taken as the compliment it was meant to be!
Favour Jan 2011
Nero was an Emperor
A very unkind one
He wanted everything as he planed

He decided to burn down a city
Which people really loved
Nero burnt down the city and got the blame
Was Nero going to be blamed forever?
NO!

He then accused the Christians
The innocent Christians did nothing wrong
But still got the blame

So Nero persuaded the people and them it was the Christians
Who caused the fire
But it wasn’t true

And then came the persecution of the Christians.
I don't know the real history of the story, this was based on what I was told.  
copyright 2011
Brandon Sep 2011
An entire lifetime remembered
In a solitary fragment of blood
Supernovas explode in the blackness of our eyes
I can see your androgynous ****** form
Sitting in wicker chairs
Juggling martinis and cigarettes
Dressed in Homecoming White
With a penchant for persecution
We’re choking on chlorine
And leisurely drowning in anonymity
Still the daydreams of my consequences linger on
david badgerow Dec 2011
the answer
is not
opposed to principle
it is not
against wars or
persecution
it will just
go together with
literature
and it can
be influenced by
time
and the heart.
there is no difference between fact and fiction.
all writing is fiction.
and that is the worst betrayal of
the truth.
THERE was a man whom Sorrow named his Friend,
And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming,
Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming
And humming Sands, where windy surges wend:
And he called loudly to the stars to bend
From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they
Among themselves laugh on and sing alway:
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story.!
The sea Swept on and cried her old cry still,
Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill.
He fled the persecution of her glory
And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping,
Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening.
But naught they heard, for they are always listening,
The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping.
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Sought once again the shore, and found a shell,
And thought, I will my heavy story tell
Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send
Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart;
And my own talc again for me shall sing,
And my own whispering words be comforting,
And lo! my ancient burden may depart.
Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim;
But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone
Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan
Among her wildering whirls, forgetting him.
Yaffa Yaffa Jul 2011
All this criticism, persecution,
Hatred, scorn,
Thrown towards us,
Two women,
Two men,
Immoral relationship they say,
Against God's word,
That's not the way He wanted it,
But one woman, two men,
Two women, one man,
Nothing's wrong with that,
16 year old teenage girl sleeping with the married man,
Nothing's said about them,
And if something's said, it's done in whispers,
Rumshop or evening gossip,
But me,
Harsh words are thrown my way,
No one cares about the tears they cause,
But when the woman down the road slept with my ex-husband,
I deserved it because I did not do enough to keep him,
They say,
But when I had a one night stand with the woman from the other town,
Words were thrown my way,
Why?
Because when I have ***,
There's no product formed from the substrate,
Or because when two products come together, there's no reaction,
Othan than multiple ******* caused by erogenous pleasure,
Or because I use toys,
And you need none,
Or is it because God made Adam and Eve,
And destroyed ***** and Gomorrah,
But he did not make Adam and Eve and the next door neighbour Steve,
And last time I checked he was on the merge of destroying Nineveh.

You say we destroy the definition of marriage or family,
But the contraceptives you use contribute to Global Warming,
Which sounds better?
A home started by a relationship like mine,
Or an Earth that's on the merge of dying?

They say,
That relationships like mine add nothing to society,
But relationships like yours cause fatherless homes,
Contributing to prostitution and gang wars,
Or multiple abortions before the age of 25,
Talking about my acts of erogenous pleasure causing no reaction, no creation,
But relationships like yours cause abortions,
Destruction of life, right in the middle of creation,
You call it abortion I call it ******,
Termination of life,
So who's the criminal?
But because of the sexuality placed upon me,
I'm persecuted,
I'm scrutinized,
Verbally abused,
And people like you are easily accepted,
But don't forget,
I'm the product of a heterosexual relationship.
MuseumofMax Dec 2021
Independent
A bit headstrong,
Her kindness,
Transcendent

Her accent shapes her character.

She doubts her abilities
When she is among the strongest
The hurt of her people
Is all she sees

She’s learning to look in the mirror
Not to see the imperfections
But all the possibilities

She rarely forgets
Although she hides behind a silhouette

A fierce protector
Without discrimination

They can’t all defend themselves
So she steps in

She will give her life for her country
And for it
They love her.
I hope she sees the change she creates
A magnificent ruler.

Each step in her red spiked boots
Paving a new path
For those forgotten or lost
Walking with her,
Their roots

She takes their hand
And leads them on

No persecution

Only solutions.

A tireless advocate for those without.

No need to ask
She understands her task

…………………………….

Could you use some help?
No need to ask

Just open your eyes
And seek her out

She’ll find you
Eventually
She sees through it
The lies.

I hope one day this queen
Will find a proper king
For now she rules independently

Fighting
Endlessly.
A poem dedicated to a dear friend that inspires me daily.
thatdreadedpoet Jul 2013
on july 13th, 2013: George Zimmerman
a florida native with a history of violence
was found not guilty for the ****** of unarmed 17 year old African American boy Trayvon Martin claiming self defense

on may 8th, 2012 African American, Marissa Alexander:
a florida native with no history of violence
was sentenced to 20 years in prison for discharging a warning shot out of self defense from the wrath of her abusive ex- husband

marissa,
i often wonder how you felt on july 13th when you heard the Trayvon Martin verdict
did you feel the heaviness of invisible shackles weighing your hands and feet down like you had stepped into the 1600s?
did you feel a surge of anger burn through your throat like i did for you?

did you ask yourself if you should’ve continued letting your husband play picasso on you?
Letting your body be his work of art as he splattered blotches of black and blue making a tie-dyed canvas out of you?
because the jury treated the bruises you wore as if they were the plague
saying beware of a black woman who protects herself
it takes 20 years of solitary confinement to cure her of this disease

marissa,
are you afraid of the skin of bullseyes your two children were born into
knowing that society will use them for target practice every day like they did for you?

can you not sleep at night out of fear anytime your child pulls a hood over his head
that he is marking himself as sacrifical lambs to our legal system?

did you tell your mother the next day to burn your babies black hoodies
because on July 13th it was made known
being black and wearing a hood means danger
that being black and wearing a hood means you have a hunger for ******
that being black and wearing a hood means you have cosigned to a persecution?
and yet…we all seem to forget the ones in white that fit the same description

marissa,
i hope you’re starting to see America has OCD
wanting to color within the same lines, with the same two colors
segregating black and white
neglecting to realize that blood and blood shed never bleed out in the same two colors
just look at the crime scenes of Trayvon Martin and your ex-husband

marissa,
from now on when you bite your tongue while eating
don’t spit the blood out
leave it, let it settle, then swallow
and let it be a reminder of all the trayvon martins, all the emmett tills, all the james birds, and all the little black boys who died for standing their ground like you tried to

marissa,
i know you feel like god abadoned you
as if he stabbed you into the back and sent you on a suicide mission
but please
know you are my symbol of hope
you are my hero
the woman i wish to emulate and be
you are the one i pray for at sunday night dinners while holding the one hand of my black mother and the other hand of my white father
hoping one day america can sing free at last and actually mean that
hoping one day america can be blended and still be considered alright
hoping america will stop painting pictures in only black and white
JAM Dec 2019
Righteous anger is intoxicating;
Brain cells sold to the fiction of the mind.
It funds peddlers too loudly debating:
Oh, what to do with words spent on designs
Of machines combating contradictions?
Their motherboards are hardwired for the ****.
Any thoughts or beliefs on opinions?
Just wait for their hunger to get its fill.
Nothing like teeth flushed with red and venom.
***, death, and chocolate cannot compare
To the moral high ground's cheap decorum
Of beliefs held in contempt and despair.
      Because paying attention to the wit
      Of my getting hard done by is the ****.
Brady D Friedkin Feb 2016
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!
A poem lamenting the suffering of the Saints of Jesus Christ in their obedience and reverence toward Him
KA Feb 2014
as the flames grow higher
  you must know
  its the persecution that I'm crossed
  not you
  I want peace
  my life is a dream
  row row row your boat
  get to the other side of life
  my Buddha
  so many innocent died
  so many haters
  listen to me
  persecution
  photographs
  Malcolm keep clicking
  it gives my life meaning
  at the peak of living
  light yourself
  shoot into the sky
  shooting into the flame
  I make my point
  scores settled
  magazine covers
  me in white
  you with your mouth wide open
  shooting into the flame
  I peak
How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves,
    Close by the street of this fair seaport town,
Silent beside the never-silent waves,
    At rest in all this moving up and down!

The trees are white with dust, that o’er their sleep
    Wave their broad curtains in the south-wind’s breath,
While underneath these leafy tents they keep
    The long, mysterious Exodus of Death.

And these sepulchral stones, so old and brown,
    That pave with level flags their burial-place,
Seem like the tablets of the Law, thrown down
    And broken by Moses at the mountain’s base.

The very names recorded here are strange,
    Of foreign accent, and of different climes;
Alvares and Rivera interchange
    With Abraham and Jacob of old times.

“Blessed be God! for he created Death!”
    The mourners said, “and Death is rest and peace;”
Then added, in the certainty of faith,
    “And giveth Life that nevermore shall cease.”

Closed are the portals of their Synagogue,
    No Psalms of David now the silence break,
No Rabbi reads the ancient Decalogue
    In the grand dialect the Prophets spake.

Gone are the living, but the dead remain,
    And not neglected; for a hand unseen,
Scattering its bounty, like a summer rain,
    Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.

How came they here? What burst of Christian hate,
    What persecution, merciless and blind,
Drove o’er the sea—that desert desolate—    These Ishmaels and Hagars of mankind?

They lived in narrow streets and lanes obscure,
    Ghetto and Judenstrass, in mirk and mire;
Taught in the school of patience to endure
    The life of anguish and the death of fire.

All their lives long, with the unleavened bread
    And bitter herbs of exile and its fears,
The wasting famine of the heart they fed,
    And slaked its thirst with marah of their tears.

Anathema maranatha! was the cry
    That rang from town to town, from street to street;
At every gate the accursed Mordecai
    Was mocked and jeered, and spurned by Christian feet.

Pride and humiliation hand in hand
    Walked with them through the world where’er they went;
Trampled and beaten were they as the sand,
    And yet unshaken as the continent.

For in the background figures vague and vast
    Of patriarchs and of prophets rose sublime,
And all the great traditions of the Past
    They saw reflected in the coming time.

And thus forever with reverted look
    The mystic volume of the world they read,
Spelling it backward, like a Hebrew book,
    Till life became a Legend of the Dead.

But ah! what once has been shall be no more!
    The groaning earth in travail and in pain
Brings forth its races, but does not restore,
    And the dead nations never rise again.
island poet Aug 2019
green island privilege

we thread our way through the Johnstone Strait,
where every landmass, largest and smallish,
all islands, so this particular three-island-man is comforted and
comfortable in his surroundings, in his skin,
in his watery rivered veins

the outlines of myriads shapes, assorted puzzle pieces of earth adrift,
fitted sheets, awaiting assembly upon the magic of water,
fitting the continuously moving puzzling frame, accepting all,
mutually funding each other for each must, by definition,
define each other

the sky allows itself to be glimpsed, “yes, I’m still blue,” it teases,
but sky is busy bathing its undersides, in gloomy whites
of a bubble bath, of a deep morning mournful fog,
we underneath, observing, bestride a double sided fir and pine forests corridor either-sided of our the cold calm watershed,
a green privilege

fog above, touching so lightly our green tree waterway enclosure,
just as a human caresses his truly beloved’s cheeks, so so softly,
the fog sitting on top of the treetops, kissing, allowing that,
but no more,as the day is now only hours young,
disallowing mature sunset romance

close enough to touch, the fallen branches that people the shoreline and I, marvel at my privilege, my history, how I came to be
witness to this moment, testifying to the luck of life, cris cross continental running from European Black Forest persecution,
Spanish inquisitors, whose auto-da-fe cris cross burnings earned them no truth, no fame,
where racism hatred made my tribe an official inferior kind,
worthy of extermination, yet, here I am surviving to be arriving
to the serenity of this goddess Columbia moment in natural embrace

but here again, at this second, still excoriated as virus-privileged,
aligned this time to the guilt of my skin colorations,
guilty genetically, in my nation of 99% immigrants,
which confuses us,
for we, our troop, victimized by quotas, ghettos, crafted laws,
once upon a time burnished, now burnt by our successes,
we asked for nothing more, fair play,
a chance to win but never by stepping on the backs of others,
are told, no, no, guilty by chance,
cause you won the oppressors color coded lottery


the sun keeps on battling, though now late afternoon,
its glare, no fair, makes me squint to see the horizon,
a thin lucent bright line, who knows how far away,
it challenges me, saying am I not the sun to everyone,
leading you to new islands, green end zones for anyone
to touch down, leading you back home to where you shelter
anyone who asks, a new horizon for anyone comes to me,
giver of words, my inspiration family history shared for anyone,
I adjudge guilty, your privilege was earned, by the exile you’ve endured and the truth of your island green privilege,
and the trees, in unison say, hallelujah selah
Paul Sands Feb 2015
I dreamed of Frida Kahlo
"yo era ella amante"
pure, paupered prince to her primal queen
yet still I hollowed a carnal niche into the midst
of one perdurable, lurid " noche de los muertos"
and fingered the lachrymose from her lacerations
counting prurient  time in a piercing nine of
perennial persecution before I wore her pelt
to lay me down in her sanguinary glow
Zulu Samperfas Jun 2013
I had run about, and my feet hurt,
all I could think of, is let me make it end today
and I did it, signing off with a secretary, as she left with her friends

I carried the small burden of a year of persecution
the worst job I ever had,
and he was there, in the cement quad,
talking, saying goodbye

What horrible things he had said to me this year
I wasn't even suited for this profession since I was so anxious
in his presence, since he is all knowing
And when it was too much, I cried, and of course
I shouldn't do that, but that made things ten times
more offensive, I felt like I had a target on me
so I made up a labor attorney I had in my corner
and when he was on the attack, I brought her up
and he fell silent and was more careful

And I saw who he'd promoted, as chief rooster of the English department
since it is a hen house, and he gets too lonely just as a vice principal
that he has meddle and control and pick and decide and ogle
and pretend he's not and revel in so many women in one room,
and he has power over us all

And just that day, he strolled through a Paris City Park
Tree lined, in Spring, with dappled shade on the ground from tall
trees, and metal fences, and people sitting on benches
having fascinating and illuminating intellectual conversations
and well employed and turned out people
strolling along, perhaps some even dressed in nineteenth century clothes
everything in two dimensions,
He the gentleman, her the lady, an impressionist painting
colorful and imprecise, more a dream than reality
of the good life, and harmony, all with a slight Sienna tint, in two D
it was, in reality,  in the gum stained quad in the blazing sun
and she was married to someone else
but she had that perfect English teacher look, blonde
and bland, with giant blue eyes and a bun,
and a dress that cut just below the knee
and blew gently in the hot breeze, flaring out and revealing nothing
but the middle class acceptability of the fabric
and I dashed, really ran by holding my charger, to the computer I turned in
and through the scene, tore a wave of three D, and the Sienna tone
had a trail cut through it of true digital color
and he said "wow," as a vision from the 21st century ripped into his world
and I imagined her boring me to death
making my favorite literature as lifeless and dull
as a computer manual, or a endless apartment lease,
and together this lady and gentleman, they were totally in sync and ready
to frighten another generation of students away from reading
forever...

Later he stood and he saw me
speed walking away from this world
and he gazed at me, waiting for me
to pause, for there to be a bit of nostalgia
and warm good will between us as we exchanged
niceties that were only the tips of a much deeper affection
and respect between us, and I saw him preparing for this
and my pace didn't slacken
and I felt like he was again in two D on a film screen, I, a steadi cam
smoothly floating past, taking in every detail, in slow motion
And I looked at him as more of an object, not a person,
because I couldn't bear all the feelings and thoughts and anxieties so I left him in two D,
watching him I said "bye"
and I couldn't hear what he said because the camera moved
past very quickly and all the sound was muted,
distorted, impossible to understand except to know
it was sound like what you hear underwater

and it was only later, five blocks away, that I burst into
frustrated, pained, angry tears, and I felt again, three dimensional
and alive and hurting and the sound around me boomed back, in all it's chaotic detail,
cars and people and the radio and my own human pain and I realized
I made it
Passions I have a few
Questions I have many
Perceptions are in a constant flux

Emotions go on with out control
The heart space fluctuates
Physical motions do not reflect the interior

Goals I have no use for
Intentions change with the wind

All things I hold
All I that I have brought
Have fallen to the wayside

Persecution does nothing for me
No matter how I perceive my concept of growth
Someone finds a logical objection

**** your logic
I will not be swayed
Leave me to my

To this misconception
Aaron LaLux Dec 2016
American Refugee


Head feels like a ton of bricks,
trying to retrace my misstepped steps…

Where have I awoken?

What country am I in?

Who was that girl last night?

Why did I choose to go through it again?

When will I finally say enough is enough?

Enough is enough.

Why does the poison feel so good?

I love everything that hates me,
alcohol and cigarettes,
promiscuous girls date me,
but only for a night…

A night was had,
dancing music,
flirting new friends,
we were all in it together,
a glorious moment,
with people from all over the world,
we were on top of the world,
surfing on a rocket,
on Cloud Nine with some fine felines,
bumping beats with a pocket full of sunshine,
flashy lights and flashy ladies,
drinks on me,
literally,
drinks on me,

I felt like we all felt,
so together,
so how’d I end up,
so all alone,
nursing a hangover,
with poached eggs and mochaccinos,
served by a surprisingly cute waitress,
at a cafe somewhere in New Zealand…

Head feels like a ton of bricks,
trying to retrace my steps…

I came here,
to this country,
to escape Hollywood,
where I was trapped in it’s trapping trappings,

trapped in it’s clubs,
trapped in it’s women,
trapped in it’s drugs,
trapped in it’s cliches,
so why is it,
I found myself,
on the other side of the world,
at club with some women on drugs trapped in this same cliche?

Same ****t,
different country,
I guess you can take the boy outta Hollywood,
but you can’t take the Hollywood outta the boy…

I am the world’s first American Refugee,
except I didn’t come on a boat,
in ragged clothes clinging to my body,
and ragged hopes clinging to my psyche,

I came,
on an airplane,
in a first class seat,
dining on the offerings of a corporate worldwide empire,

but it is not the means of movement,
it is the intention behind the actions that matters,

and I came,
with the intention to create a healthier life,
a cleaner life,
a better future for myself and all those I love.

I am an American Refugee,

I am an American Refugee,
fleeing the subconscious oppressions of my country,
fleeing the persecution of all things I held holy and sacred,
I am tired of witnessing the spiritual ****** of my falling comrades,

I am a American Refugee,
more specifically,
a Hollywood Refugee,
fleeing the bright lights and large egos,
searching for solace and refuge,
amongst the towering rainforest trees of New Zealand,

I fled the toxic water the toxic air and the toxic people,
to drink fresh water breathe clean are and befriend friendly people,

so why,
why,
why would I subject myself,
to the same oppressions that I’ve attempted to flee from?

Justin Bieber echoed across the dance floor,

“Is it to late to say I’m sorry now?
Yeah I know that I let you down,
is it too late to say I’m sorry now?”

“I’m sorry.”,

“Sorry.”,

“Sorry.”,

“Yeah I know that I let you down,
is it too late to say I’m sorry now?”,

and as cheesy and cliche as it sounds,
I get the chills because I knew exactly what he was saying,
and I wondered if anyone else in that club was an American Refugee,
I wondered if anyone else in that club knew what Justin Bieber was saying,
or if they were just dancing because of the beat,
and they were just singing along because that’s what they think they’re supposed to do,
because most people have to be told what’s cool,
then force fed that coolness until they have too many pairs of shoes,

no amount of shoes will ever bring you real happiness,
and I honestly apologize,
we Hollywoodians were put in a position to lead the free world,
and everyone listened to us,
you all listened to us,
you gave us your ears and your hearts,
your souls and your minds,
and all we gave you were improbable dreams,
and glorious visions,
of an unsustainable lifestyle that you go broke trying to duplicate,

when will you realize you can chase,
but you can never catch something that doesn’t really exist?

And I’m sorry,
but I give up,
I’m done,
because,

“Yeah I know once more I’ve let you down,
is it too late to say I’m sorry now?”.

I’m sick and tired so I’m retiring,
I’m retreating to build a retreat,
somewhere in New Zealand,
where I can be free again,

and I’ve finally made it here,
but it seems mentally I’m not prepared,
because I’m still going to clubs with a bunch of girls,
then getting used up foolishly because I foolishly thought they cared,

who cares?

I don’t want the weight of the world on my shoulders anymore,
I don’t need all eyes on me,
I just want to get rid of all my wants,
so that I can finally be freed and have all that I need,

you must get rid of your wants,
so you can do what you like,

and I do feel a little bit relieved to finally be in New Zealand,
but honestly the weight of the world is still on my shoulders,

I still can’t shake this feeling,
that I’m just going through the routine,
as I write these words on this laptop,
and fuel my words with free range eggs and caffeine,

up on this mountain all alone,
even though I’m at a crowded cafe,
and it feels like sunrise,
even though it’s already mid-day,

my head feels like a ton of bricks,
trying to retrace my misstepped steps…

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

author of

The Poetry Trilogy
The Holy Trilogy
The HH Trilogy
One Pusumane Sep 2014
I feel you constantly each second
You are the one thing I breathe, the one thing I cling onto for my dear life
What did I ever do to you?
I am in debt to you?
I work hard, pay my dues and respect the world
What did I do to deserve such persecution?
Dear pain I think our contract has to be terminated
But then again if you leave me who is left with my dark soul
Who is left to keep me company at my lonely dark grave?
I am tired of being used, dumped and stepped on
Haven’t you had your fun yet? I think I have reached my dying limits
I give up! Then pain, please I beg!
Lend me a dying wish!
I think in this game of cat and mouse you have won
I think I am now brave enough to accept defeat
I am strong enough to handle the fact that I am nothing!
Dear pain, I have nothing but tears to shed
Dear pain, lend me a dying wish!
If you do come to my funeral, don’t be sad
We were good friends, the best of the best
I would have not wronged the world if I say I enjoyed having you
Dear pain, please keep away from the ones I LOVE
Lend them the opposite of my imperfections
Dear pain my partner in this emotionless crime
PLEASE! DO LEND ME A DYING WISH….

By: One Pamela Pusumane.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE COPYRIGHT HOLDER AND AUTHOR.
jack of spades Dec 2015
as a person in my position, i have very little right to write about prejudice. being a christian, i am taught about persecution but i don't really face it considering it's one of the world's most popular religions. the biggest so-called aggression might be a coffee cup that adjusts its design to include all people and all celebrations held in the winter time, or maybe a national pledge removing mention of my deity in order to apply more to everybody, especially considering this country was founded by those who wanted to practice their respective religions freely. i have no right to speak for my muslim sisters and brothers who are forced to apologize for the islamic equivalent of the ku klux ****. what happened to 'all lives matter' when the matter of syrian refugees drifts up, carried by the streets paved in blood, carried by boats across oceans and for some reason these lives don't matter?
to add to the injury i am a middle class white kid, and i hate to break it to you but reverse racism doesn't exist. institutions are not arranged in a way to put me down and keep me quiet. i am rewarded for my successes, called 'bright,' and when my sports team loses i am allowed to cause more damage than those who start a riot over injustices worth having a voice for. i can join the marches and use my position to raise others' voices but i must be careful not to drown them out, because i do not have authority to place my voice above those who have lived the experience
but i do have a different set of experiences my own:
biologically speaking, i am female. according to consumerism, i want a thigh gap wider than the wage gap-- oh, wait, statistically speaking that can't exist, not when we are discouraged by ongoing systems not to discuss salary, conversations that might shed light on evasion of what i deserve. bring up feminism and the first thing you'll hear is "oh, so if everyone is equal, i can hit a girl, right?" no, because i don't want you to hit me. because you shouldn't want to hit anybody, regardless of gender identity. how scary, how scary, that the first thing that comes to a cisgendered male's mind when he thinks 'equality' is abuse. another thing you're bound to hear is "well then i shouldn't have to hold doors open for women" as if politeness is taken away when you stop seeing me as something weak. hopefully you've been taught manners at some point in your despairing life.
i can't even begin to approach the topic of the persecution of trans women, but i can give you the horror stories of my sexuality:
lesbians hate me because how dare i also like guys, straight guys disgust me because they only think 'three-way' when they see 'bi,' gay kids just tell me to pick a side, and my mother will say how it's one or the other as she rolls her eyes. if i date a dude, they tell me it's hetero. if i date a chick, they call me a *****. it's like my identity is only valid when i'm all alone: otherwise i'm either not welcome at pride parties or not welcome in my own home. don't get me started on the poor pan kids who are told that they're just being pretentious bisexuals, or the ace kids told that they just need to be fixed, or the kids confused about the difference between a sexuality and 'political correctness' (news flash: you just have to respect someone's humanity)
here, i'll repeat it: respect someone's humanity.
if someone tells you that you hurt them,
you have no right to decide that you didn't.
when a marginalized group makes fun of you, it is not a reverse anything because all they are doing is hurting your individual feelings, whereas they are put down by the normativity engrained in us from cradle to grave. you tell us to stop being so sensitive but then get angry when all the fed-up trans kids shout "down with cis!" or all the black voices rise to rally "black lives matter!" or women saying that they "hate all men!"
after all,
if i told you i had a plate of cookies, ten in total,
two with laxatives and one with cyanide,
would you take the risk?
or would you just assume that all the cookies are potentially poisoned?
humans are humans are humans. allow people to have their identities. stop erasing someone's position or point of view just because you disagree with it.
Have but one God: thy knees were sore
If bent in prayer to three or four.
Adore no images save those
The coinage of thy country shows.
Take not the Name in vain. Direct
Thy swearing unto some effect.
Thy hand from Sunday work be held--
Work not at all unless compelled.
Honor thy parents, and perchance
Their wills thy fortunes may advance.

**** not--death liberates thy foe
From persecution's constant woe.

Kiss not thy neighbor's wife. Of course
There's no objection to divorce.

To steal were folly, for 'tis plain
In cheating there is greater pain.

Bear not false witness. Shake your head
And say that you have "heard it said."

Who stays to covet ne'er will catch
An opportunity to ******.
We wake to the chatter of guns and is that the sound of drums or the beating of my heart?

A song.
'let's start at the very beginning,a very good place to be'

one day they'll all be free.
Free from persecution although many resolutions have been made,none are kept.

'Jesus wept'
I believe he did but they soon got rid of him.
If it's a sin to **** why try? we are only here for a while then die so let us live.
I give each day some daily bread and each day more are being killed,
dead,
and the dead don't cry.
Silence.
Koty Peter Aug 2012
A comedy, a tragedy, a romance, a drama,
This world is what you make it because nothing truly matters.
Everything done will be undone
by inevitable death.
On the timeline of this earth,
your really quite insignificant.
So laugh at brick walls,
cry at the zoo,
make out with porcupines,
whatever you wanna do.
In 1% of the time this earth has been spinning,
no one will remember you were even breathing.
Don't look at this world a square inch at a time,
Take a step back,
Get the big picture in mind.
Life is a joke.
It's there to amuse you.
Until we reach the next phase in out journey,
which is probably fertilizer.
We walk around and pretend were not a mass of cells,
pointless matter taking up space a pointless world.
Were held accountable for the things we want,
And face persecution when we act impulse.
So everything's fair.
What a hilarious illusion.
We wander around blinded by spoon-fed delusion.
Like things matter.
Like we matter.
But were all only matter.

— The End —