The toxic grip of others;

the hold they have upon the man or woman who is simply trying.

Do they find pleasure in control?

Do they look to find faults within another, with the hope that their own faults will soon flee them?

What a miserable lie to tell one’s self.

The damning shame we carry.

Our peace is broken apart by the daily pick axe of conformity.

Do this…no…do that.

What would Jesus do? What would He be?

Would He be a Catholic, or a Protestant, or, perhaps a Socialist…?

Whatever the men say He is, not what He is in me.

“Better straighten up, pitiful man!”

How is it that all know what is best for others, and yet, they don’t know what is best for themselves?

Go to a place to become a robot — a tool. Give all of your energy to the machine. Pump out more and receive less.

As long as the men at the top are happy.

As long as you live in poverty while the golden cup is raised to the lips of the kings of their own delusion.

How does the man who weeps in the shadow feel when he makes the other weep in public?

Does he look in the mirror and pride himself with the abuse he also received?

Does he drink it all away?

Is the powerful hand that strikes as fragile as his target?

“Take it all away, Lord. May they long for you. May we. May I.”

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