Love in a moment

I looked around the street today as I walked to work. I met your glance and smiled lightly then turned my head from shyness. I loved you then just for a moment of treasured passion. I saw that love in anothers face getting a ticket for the train. The kind stare, the endless words trapped by closed lips. I smiled brighter and loved you agian, just for a second, then the train came and I left you waiting on the platform. Loving you as you pulled your coat tighter to fight the coming wind and passed from view. I sat quietly on the train seeking the possibility of meeting that one, you. I see your eyes in so many faces and feel your breath on my neck. I know it's you but can't take my gaze from my life long enough to feel it. I can love you from afar as I fill your life with my fantasies of happiness. You never say a word, you just look and smile from so many places out of different faces. I have this love to give and a mind to understand you but you never say a word. So, I wait. I'll see you agian getting coffee or running for a cab. I'll see you and you'll see me and still you never say a word. Just remember gentlemen, I am here waiting for a word, a glance, a simple hello to invite me into your life and help you feel that happiness of companionship and endless romances. I'll keep living my life, working, praying, making my little corner of the world turn. Still I wait for that most able movement of love's embrace. I'll see you agian, but will you have the courage to speak this time? Will I just listen to the wind as you pass from view?

Your Sista?

Am I not your sista?
My skin is white, my mind is white
My thoughts are white, my life is white
You look to me and say, hey white girl
Am I not your sista?
I look to you and say, what up brotha?
Eyes flash surrounded by night
Brotha?, you are not my sista, white girl
You are different, outside, away and gone
Removed from my world, my pain, my hope, my strain
You are not my sista, white girl
On the outside looking in I see, chicken
I see skin, ghetto lives and wasted power
I see thought and truth, respect and loneliness
I see colors and guns and hate
I see me in your skin
I see the dark flesh fold about my body
I see my hair curl and fro
I see my eyes deepen, heavy minded
Slated with your skin now I see
I see a blessing, God’s light on me
I see the world, the small ringing world
I see hopes on rocks, rejoicing prayer
I see territory, love and effort
I see trials and triumph, weakness
I see black men as my men, just men
I see the white man, outside, away and gone
Am I not your sista?
No, I have a white soul
Skin does not change me
I am a forbidden sista
Pushed away - to white to be right
Left alone in suburbia
Hawking businessmen for a dime a day
Sitting quietly on the street, waiting
Empty pockets and drug habits
Mom is a janitor, dad’s a deadbeat
Here’s the down beat
I see you, I see me, I see the light of God in us as one
Mayonnaise and Chocolate nasty sandwich
Or say Oreo, no, black outside with a white soul
I say to white to be part of the click, the gang, the fight, the night
I say to white for you, for me, for the world?
My skin defines me? Does your skin define you?
Yes, we let sight make out judgments, not our minds
I feel brotha; I feel that once long history of us as one
Call us Human, souls, thoughts, heart; say I am your sista
I am in your world, your life, your pain
I am here rejoicing God, with you, near you, by you
I am white and pushing, pulling, pressing the issue
Am I not your sista?
Call me Honkey, white trash, KKK, Call me hater
I say no. White this skin may be but I have a soul of gold
Gold, mine and yours, god's shining glory to the universe
Shine our souls, our spirit, our joined hands
Unite this golden birth of light and power
I say Brotha I am your sista
Basted in whitewash but truth lies here to
Pain and struggle and strife, my white life
I felt the white man
Pushing, pulling, prying me outside, away and gone
I say stop the ringing lives of white vs. black
Color vs. Color, gun vs. gun, beat the stereotype
Ply it to your will, use it, abuse it, redo it
Hell I blew it
Look at it here this Honkey on stage speaking of black man’s rage
And she wants to be my sista?
I know not your life of color and Jell-O
I say I have color too, not white but tan, scorched
Sun darken my skin, deliver me from my white prison
Make me who I want to be, give me color
Make me a part of the clever parade of beautiful color
Shine the light through the dark man’s eyes
I say no, why does my skin have to match what does not matter
My mind is there, listening waiting, praying, guiding, seeing
I see you black man, brown woman, yellow child
I see my white skin and I say with God here, right here
I take pride not in my genetics or history,
I am prideful god made me
Made me like you here, beating, throbbing, animal passion
Clear soon to be understood, I stand
I stand up for my self, my love, my power, my family, my race
Yes, I stand up here in this room with every black face
And say I stand for my race, the race, the only place of grace
God place my heart into their eyes tonight, let them see me
Here standing with arms here to embrace my race, our race, the race
Racing, pacing, tracing lives of human passion,
Bring me that color, that trade
I stand here your sista, your race the only race
The Human place of standing in god eyes
Our blessed eyes of humanity and foretold peace
Here I stand your sista, the white sista of the Human race
Race to be one in God’s place, the Human race of heart and hope
The black hole of enmity and place, I am the human race
Am I not your sista?

Hate this Honkey

Hate this Honkey
by Sarazann Greenwood

Call me Cracker
Pale skin and pale eyes
Define lying eyes this pale soul
Call me Honkey
Texas girl wrapped in KKK clothes
Hit up from the toe up lack of melanin
Call me Rebel
Standing in no one’s army
Fighting flag symbol of treachery
Call me Caucasian
What?! A Jew, a Mick, a Wap
Different cultures same skin
Call me Believer
God’s spray of color and war
Different lands pleading eyes

Free us, God! Free us from hatred!
No, dig this, my brother,
Listen to my cracker jive

Hate, I say hate with every breath in the soul God gave you.
That’s the power, that’s the depth of human, soul power.
Trembled eyes see the hate, love the hate, marvel at the hate,
feel the hate, want the hate, need the hate.
Feel this supremacy, this energy, this bloodlust, this Hate.

This cracker skin, this green eye, this last remembrance of a history, hate this vessel, this walking corpse, hate me.
Hate this KKK, bed sheet wearing, serial killing, child molesting, rampaging school shooter. This satanic cult loving, piece of rich Honkey shit, cattle rustling, banshee in the night of slave owning pain, Hate me.

Free us? God? Can we breathe without hate? Can we survive peace? Could we live one moment in our lives breathing this beauty, living this blessed beauty of God’s embrace?

Could we love the hate?
Could we drop our swords of culture and equality and stop? Stop to see the difference, the black, the white, the yellow, the red, the brown?

Could we see people instead of color?
See that hopeful painting of sacred light and shadow unfold? Can we define our lives on humanities terms? Can we believe? Believe this power this enchanting human mystery of souls long dead ringing our ear of perspective segregation?

Can we see beyond seeing? Hope beyond dreaming? Love beyond knowing? Feel beyond understanding?
Can we feel this hate?
Yes.

In the Heather

In the Heather
by Sarazann Greenwood

I spoke your name today, over cereal and a newspaper.
The world’s foundation cracked, my mind shook in pain.
Your spirit consecrated a hapless heart with love’s hope.
Foundation still askew gave way to mirrored blessings.
I blame my selfish lies for failing you in my heart.
Expectations and fear of peace created my reality.
You are beautiful, a soul that dances on waves.
Jealousy bends to amiable wills and failed remorse.

I fear us as one, I fear sacrificing you to my pride.
You need love pure and whole with humility.
I can not love that way, I’m prisoned in my heart.
You see a perfection of woman’s grace in me.
I am blind to those eyes and forsake redemption.
Your love is precious and filled with boundless passion.
I love like a caged bird, high on a pedestal, painted in sun.

You are my rising moon, I am your setting sun, we are parted.
Our love is in the land of spirits where life’s blood is flowing from an ever spring, lifted high into the angel’s balcony, wafting into blessed funerals of promised wishes. Wishes heaped upon passions and tears, living in the daylight of god’s journey. Together we are children in a light of an unknown love. A serendipitous meeting of souls, combined for eons, waiting in the heather of time for the most able movement of love’s embrace. We are a soul, apart.

The Useless Halfling Barbarian Seamstress

The Useless Halfling Barbarian Seamstress
by Sarazann Greenwood

My first experience with Dungeons and Dragons 3rd ed. was the only time I have ever been attacked by a party member. I joined the group a few weeks after everyone had started, the estrogen was low in the game shop. I think that was the big reason for letting me play, seeing the fact I didn't know anything about 3rd ed. However, I am a well versed DM for White Wolf Vampire and 2nd ed. D&D. When I got to the game, I realized they didn't need another character and my portion of the fighting would be well overshadowed by the more powerful characters. I started at first level and they had at least four levels on me. The party was very well rounded, paladin, thief, cleric, the big ork with the battle axe, and a little funny man with all the spells. I decided I would make a character with pure role-playing ability, someone fun and useless.
Yzrie, the buxom halfling barbarian seamstress with an intelligence of 8, was born. She fought with twin scissors (d4 damage, each) and I spent all of my character points in embroidery and dressmaking. I had max hit points and the toughness feat, somewhat like a cockroach. I couldn't hurt you but I'm damn hard to squash. The party decided to take me along in their adventure because I was good comic relief after a long day of killing hill giants.
We found some interesting elfin statues, which my character was convinced were people trapped by some spell. So, she insisted we take them to the nearest town to get them turned back into elves. They agreed because they were master crafted and worth a good gold piece or two. On the way back to town the Paladin sensed some evil in the woods and made everyone go check it out with him. We found a big dark hole in the ground. This is where the problem arose. Yzrie could not handle the fact that if she went down in that hole she wouldn't be able to run away from the impending death that waited for her, so she decided she was going to stay up top and keep the horses company. Fred, the thief with a mighty big crossbow didn't like the idea of splitting up the party, he and Yzrie argued for a time and he finally realized you can't reason with a stupid person. Yzrie was staying put. So while she was cutting the rope for the mage, he jammed his crossbow into the back of her neck and told her to get into the hole or he was going to kill Yzrie on the spot. Yzrie got very angry, as women do, and flipped her long red braids into his face, turned around and cut off his pants (I nailed the die roll). Then ran as fast as she could and hid inside the wagon. Fred flipped out, and decided not to bother with the stupid halfling. He got another pair of pants from his pack and jumped down the hole of doom with everyone else who had been waiting for him.
I spent the rest of the adventure writing tiny notes to the DM, who graciously endured this crazy character. Yzrie made cloaks for the elfin statues because the little elves were cold, started a campfire and by the time everyone was back from the hole of death, there was a roaring fire, hot food and the tents were pitched for a nice long sleep. Yzrie also made Fred a new pair of pants because it’s just not right to ruin good clothes.

One Day

One Day
September 11, 2004
By Sarazann Greenwood

She stopped. Hands clenched on the guardrail, her brain swelled with fear, a cold sweat. Is it happening? She thought, looking for answers to the pain curling her insides. Her eyes boiled up with tears, teeth jammed shut, no, this couldn’t be happening. Everything was normal. They said everything was normal! Wet? Am I bleeding? I can’t, they said everything was going to be okay! A shaky palm slides from the guardrail down her stomach, between her thighs, blood. Blood, blood everywhere. It’s not happening. She looked pleadingly at him, hands soaked in her own blood. What do I do, she thought not able to speak. Shock rolled across his face, he didn’t have an answer. She ran holding tight to the railing for support, Ansel Addams photos blankly staring at her as she passed. She never knew how much she hated Ansel Addams. Where’s the bathroom? Where's a fucking bathroom! Left? Right? Downstairs? In the gift shop?, eyes searching for someplace to deal with this. Someplace to wash the blood, someplace not here, anything but here in her body right now. She slammed open the door, the plastic triangle woman laughing at her. On a toilet, walls painted in an institution yellow, pastel puke green tile lined the floors, her pasty white legs laid out before her. Dripping in smeared dark red blood, her baby’s blood tricking into the cold water. My baby, my only baby, no, this can’t be happening.
She met him three months ago, and fell in love three days later, though she told herself different. She thought love was something she could never have and there he was, one day at work, buying a coke from her and smiling his crooked smile. I forgot what I was going to say, he said. Could I have your number, he said. She smiled, he smiled and it was perfect. She never took her eyes off him. She’ll wake up one morning to his face and smile and never know why until today. He was her soul mate, while sitting in a museum bathroom, blood soaked jeans crumpled over her favorite sneakers, desperately scrubbing blood from her knee, that’s what she thought, her soul mate. The man I was made for, the man whose child grew inside me, the man that paces the hallway right now, has lost his baby. And this was a celebration?
“Put your feet in the stirrups, please.” She scooted her naked backside to the end of the table preparing for the seventh stranger to look at her vagina. The pudgy little nurse pulled a dildo from a sheath and put a condom on it. It looked like a dildo, but something about the massive machine it was attached to let her know this wasn’t a pleasure visit. “We have to take the vaginal ultrasound because you are not far enough along.” The nurse squirted lube all over the dildo instrument and smiled. “There will be some pressure.” She laid her head back tired and stressed out from the eleven-hour ER visit last night, and there it was. On a TV the size of a coffee table hanging above her was her baby. A tiny little circle set neatly in her womb, it was really there, she was going to have a wonderful precious baby, his baby. She looked at him, his bright blue eyes shining with pride, they squeezed their hands tight, fingers locked together in triumph. The large round doctor waddled into the room and plopped into the chair. “This pregnancy is perfectly normal, nothing to worry about, the light bleeding is normal for some women.” Normal? Bleeding was normal? Don’t worry yourself she thought, the doctor said it looks fine and it’s going to be fine. She convinced herself. They floated out on a cloud. Everything they had feared for the past twenty-four hours was wrong. He was elated and wanted to celebrate, so they made their way across the street to her favorite place. The museum.
Ten whole minutes of true unadulterated bouncing joy coursed through her veins. People rarely feel this way in life and she was going to make sure she remembered every last second of it. Everything she had ever wished for had come true. For a moment everything was perfect, one tiny moment. She splashed water on her face. Why didn’t these bathrooms ever have hot water? Was it too much to ask to have hot water in a damn bathroom? The fluorescent light buzzed and flashed above her. She knew she was having a miscarriage, she knew she would have to run to the emergency room once again, she knew that joy had passed. She lied to herself, standing there in front of the mirror, faced washed white from blood loss, staring into her own grey eyes she told herself this had to be normal. Everything was fine. Her fingernails gummed up with dried blood, her jeans stained and oozing more blood, tiny speckles of blood splattered on the floor, the blood trailed itself down her thigh soaking her socks and pooling inside her shoes. So much blood, her baby’s blood. She looked again into the mirror trying to find some miracle waiting for her there then she choked. She couldn’t breathe, she gasped, tears streamed down her face, eyes puffy and red, was she going to die? This is going to kill me she thought. And for that brief second she didn’t care, so what if it did. She wouldn’t mind at all getting to move on from this place, anything to not have to tell him. Anything to not have to face the fact that she was no longer a mother. She gathered her courage, she had forgotten any was left, and marched out of the door determined that the doctors would make everything better. She lied.
A short drive, a cell phone call and one long walk lay ahead of her. He dropped her off at the door, so she could get to the office as fast as possible. She stepped inside the huge revolving doors; the cool air hit her like a rock. Am I still standing she thought? Yes, I have to make it upstairs; the doctor is going to fix this. So many people passing left and right, no one noticed the blood pouring from her as she left tiny spots of it on the floor. She couldn’t believe anything could hurt this much and bleed this much and not kill her. She was still standing by sheer force of will, that this was going to be okay. Hallway, lounge, pharmacy, and elevators, more hallways, more people not noticing her gushing wound. She was self-conscious all of a sudden; please don’t ask what is wrong with me, her eyes averted from the kind old lady, curiosity creeping onto her wrinkled face. She heaved the door open, was it supposed to be this heavy, her head swam and her eyes burned. She no longer tried to control the tears; somehow it helped ease the pain. Finally she was here, the doctor will make it better. “What’s happening?” she said. “I’m sorry there is nothing we can do” the doctor said. The words seemed to pour out of his mouth like molasses. She cried. She frantically searched the room for an answer. Her blood smeared the floor, the table, the white sheet that covered her, her hands drenched in her dying baby’s blood, and still there was nothing to do but let this infant expel itself from her body.
Where is he? Does he know? Do I have to be the one to break his heart? She wanted to scream, she wanted to run away, she wanted to smash the doctor’s face in with his huge silver lamp, she wanted to rend flesh, she wanted someone to feel as bad as she felt right now, she wanted someone to understand. Where is he? The doctors and nurses filed out of the room, she was now alone. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak, she needed help and there he was. Tears already flooded his eyes as the door opened; the fat nurse blocked her from jumping into his arms. Why can’t we just leave? I just want to go home. Her heart sank into a deep pit. She no longer felt the pain, all she could think about was going home to his arms and kind smile. Just going home to try to understand this with the man she loved. She wanted to scream at the doctor to shut up.
His arms held her tight now, his heart beating fast in her ear. She was rescued from this crime scene. His strong hands pulled her away from the doctors, away from the hospital and then glided her home. She repeated those words in her head, nothing we can do, nothing. No one could save my baby. All her fears were true, the tiny life was gone. That grand purpose to her life floated away with her tears. She cried herself to sleep that night and woke up the next morning no longer a mother. As she turned to look into his sleeping face she realized everything was still, perfect.

Mountain Snake Homestead

Mountain Snake Homestead
by Sarazann Greenwood

Mountain Snake Homestead, four bedrooms, one outhouse, cattle barn and forty six acres of the most beautiful redwoods the Rockies have ever seen. She tucked the brochure inside her corset and smiled. Once a lonely dressmaker in Tombstone, now she was a woman of property headed toward her future. The stagecoach rattled as the whale bone nipped at her arm. She unfastened the clasp and laid it neatly on the empty seat in front of her then removed her veil. A shot rang out, the horse ninnied and a man fell dead past her window. She pulled her trusty Colt from her handbag and leaned toward the window. Ol' Nanny, the dead man's wife, yelled at her to stay low. More shots, Indians! Hooting and hollering, shooting and dodging, Ol' Nanny was putting up a good fight. One shell caught Nanny in the leg and she fell to the ground. The woman tilted her Colt slyly out the window and shot at the painted face, blood ran from his eyes. As the Indians retreated the woman stepped elegantly from the stagecoach and checked the rear luggage. Her carpetbag, filled with stolen bank bags, hung neatly on the trunk. She walked calmly over to the wounded nanny and looked into her pleading face. Two in the head you know their dead. "Sorry ma'am no one's ever seen my face."

Fateful Message

Fateful Message
by Sarazann Greenwood

I lifted you among god’s saints
I praised the coming of every moon
I hold tight that bless’d being
I knew the tender caress of love’s pleasure
But, I lied

Love’s poetry fell on cowards ears
To afraid to meet the coming light
Left sullen in darkness of remembering
Painful clinging of loves once lost
Presently meandering from passion’s lips
But, I lied

Soft set your eyes unto mine sweet embraced one
I give of the flesh for one lonely heart song
Peaceably forgetting your mind’s tenderness
Wizened time pass’d this breathless being
My heart taken by old love now remembered
But, I lied

I longed for you through hearts weeping
I gave you hope where only wasted love remained
I pushed you fearful of clinging respite
I settled lifetimes in one fateful message
I lied.

A Note From Mom

A Note From Mom
by Sarazann Greenwood

I plucked the cherry from the stem
Your cheeks, red with excitement
Blessed stars float down from the sky
In your eyes, delight with newness
Lady Liberty give me your justice
Hearts desire, aloft with confidence
Prayers lipped with a karmic hope
Joys footsteps trace through your life

I’ll never be able to give you everything you need. I can only promise, I am your mommy, and no one will ever love you as honestly and resolutely as I do, I will never fail you, you are my purpose, my heart.
Love, your mommy

Lunch in Diamond City

Lunch in Diamond City
by Sarazann Greenwood

"Dad, I just don't understand why I have to be king of Nightmares." Zane fell back into his chair heart pounding in trepidation. His father's complacent face erupted veins and heated to a pale red. Zane considered his options and for fear of his own sanity he spread his arms wide and lowered his head.
"Father I don't mean to upset you. I merely believe placing me in that stature would bring dishonor to our house. Diamond City kings are very well respected. I am too simple minded to be capable of following in your grand footsteps." He kneels before the Nightmare King.
"Father your deeds will always exceed my meager capabilities." Zane's insides curled with this admonition. He, like the other Kings, knew his father was a bumbling oaf and not worthy of the seat. The King's face softened and shined with childlike pride.
"Yes son, I know you will never be as great as I, but you are my son, and like our fathers before us you will assume my power upon my death."
Zane smiled and cordially left the room. The poisoned food tray lay just outside the door.
"Yes, father upon your death your power will be mine.”

Vampyric Kublakahan

The Vampyric Kublakahan
by Sarazann Greenwood

In Camarilla did Malcolm Prince
A courtly pleasure dome decree,
Where, blood, a sacred river ran
Through veins measureless to man
down a sunless sea
But oh! That deep romantic chasm
Which slanted hearts should find
A savage place!
Holy, enchanted, As the air beneath a
wailing Moon
Hung on breath and time.

Woman praying to a daemon lover
Trapped in a ripening misery
Given to the endless measures
Of love’s treacherous memory
Death tears the flesh of truth
behold for you to see
Malkavian ranting scrawled in view
With unending blasphemy
A miracle of rare device and set
Zillah with the murderess hand
a king’s coup de gras

I am

I am
by Sarazann Greenwood

I am a female, soft and gentle tiger waiting in the grass
Laying in patience for the next obstacle toward my kill
I am Woman

I am a vixen, sensual, sultry host to men’s feminine fascination
Dying to please and to be pleased a pleasure of the flesh
I am Sex

I am a princess, grossly gathering power from feeble minds
Pecking orders to be told through my quizzical lips
I am Power

I am a human, flesh and bone only a little lower than the angles
Lost and lonely in a world with no answers, only explanations
I am Forgotten

Bogberry Tea

Bog Berry Tea
by Sarazann Greenwood

Crippled hands sprung from the swamp, writhing up my leg, pulling me with an unknown strength deeper into the murky filth. Screams bellowed in my chest. Dropping my sack of bog berries into the marsh, I grasped at dead tree limbs, anything to hold onto. The soft ground let loose under me and I fell. Sliding deep within the depths of the swamp beast's cave, clawed hands still wrapped around my leg. We fell into a small pool, the water was cool on my face, but the impending fear of what this bog beast had planned made my stomach wretch. A kind light shone off the shore of the underground pool, wretched hands still dragging my body closer to the bank. A large fire crackled close by, my brain exploded with thoughts that I was about to be eaten. I screamed and beat the water, my head bobbing in and out, water going up my nostrils. Rough rocks scraped my sides as the gnarled body attached to the strong hands dragged me onto the ledge. The creature tugged my wriggling self and laid me gently onto a soft pillow by the fire. The woman lumbered, dragging her left leg like string behind her, and sat on the pillow next to me. She looked softly into my face with kind inviting eyes "Care for a spot of tea, love?"

Phillip's Rhetoric

Phillip's Rhetoric
by Sarazann Greenwood

Cunny
Gentle sloping sunset valley set with snowy haze
Dripping sweetly ‘neath crevices of cherry passion
Inviting, tumbling velvet mountain fresh with rain
Cradling the frothy heat of unsaid lover’s gaze

Pussy
Coursed fingers through tangled wood
Sliding seeking curves of seeping midnight taste
Pulsing swollen folds hold tightly lovers hands
Enticing penetrating moves of sinful tongue

Twat
Open, burning hot, throbbing anticipation
Raging red flesh folds about her temptation
Pumping, sweat soaked gash begging remuneration
Fiercely clawing, screaming absolute satisfaction

Cunt
New found virgin walls swelled thick, bleeding
Basted and stripped of sex washed cum
Wasted limbs investigate wicked labia
Piercing sunken lair for one-last-fuck

Just Words

Words to Define a Country Struggling, 200 Years, for Equality
by Sarazann Greenwood

America the beautiful ignorant masses,
Sheep fucker, Christ killer, Limey, Red, and Wap
Diaperhead, Ocnod, Zipperhead, and Kike
“All power is vested in, and consequently derived from the people”
Just words.

Lexicon under a flag of revolution,
Spic, Dago, Polock, Chink, Coon, and Sprout,
Rutabaga, Waki Paki, Blue Eyed Devil and Mick
“Bring me your tired, your poor, your hungry, and weak”
Just words.

Patrician‘s pathos of human separation,
Frog, Redneck, Slopehead, Goyim, and Pork Chop,
Ice Monkey, Catlick, Commie bastard, and Nigger
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal”
Just words.

Newsroom megalomaniacs dictate future policy,
Gook, Pohm, Harbor bomber, Guido, and Dicksuckinflog
Beaner, Canuck, Pakoniggy, Muktuk, and Maldito Bori
“Freedom of press is the one great defense of liberty, and can never be restrained”
Just words.

Regime of forested political alienation,
Lemonhead, Nordski, Seagull, Kiwi, and Moke
Ocean ghosts, Camel jockey, Bogtrotter, and Gwat
“As free and independent states, they have full power to levy war”
Just words.

“For the support of this declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine providence, we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honor.”
Just words, to bring an empire to its knees and a new country to its feet.

“All experience hath shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.”
Still just words, description of lost philosophy in a pool of political gain, JUST! WORDS! Words have definition and definitions have meaning.