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Black Sea of Hate**

I find myself unwilling to immerse myself in your vast and tumultuous black sea of hate. 
It’s essential to recognize that nobody enters this world with a broken soul; rather, we gradually acquire our scars and wounds as we journey through life. You emerged into this existence seemingly unblemished, free from wrongdoing, carrying all the innocence and purity that childhood embodies.

I refuse to take a seat at your opulent table, elegantly adorned with linens that gleam as white as the untouched blanket of snow that covers Monsanto Lake in winter. 
I will not take part in your extravagant offerings!

Your gleaming Gorham silverware, beautifully crafted, hangs like clusters of luscious grapes on a mountain vine. Still, I find no desire to swim in your murky waters or dine at your table filled with animosity.
 
The children raised beside the Black Sea are being indoctrinated to despise those who guide them, including the priests who should inspire compassion.
 
Meanwhile, in distant northern streets, children’s blood stains the pavement, a tragic reminder of violence, while politicians indulge in their lavish lifestyles, enjoying dinners that cost as much as $2,000 a plate, devoid of any awareness of the suffering around them.

The question looms: who is truly guarding the gates of hell? The world of politics is indeed a chaotic and savage arena, where the innocent often pay the price for the games that power plays with their lives.

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