I have seen
his face
in New York City.
I have heard
his voice
in Europe.
He speaks
of love.
Yet practices
division.
He speaks
of human rights.
Yet strips others
of their humanity.
He speaks
of peace.
Yet profits
from war.
He sends armies.
He sends weapons.
And calls it
freedom.
He forces
democracy
upon others.
Yet rules
through fear,
power,
and obedience.
He pretends
to be a thinker.
Yet borrows
the wisdom
of others
and calls it
his own.
He speaks
of spirituality.
Yet worships
power.
Morning and night.
He preaches
virtue.
Yet walks
with hypocrisy.
His words
shine like gold.
But his deeds
cast shadows.
Then I walked
through the streets
of America.
And there
I met him again.
Smiling.
Confident
Speaking
with a forked tongue.
Promising hope.
Selling illusion.
Some say,
he will change.
But history
whispers otherwise.
For the devil
has always worn
many faces.
And the greatest trick
is not deception.
It is convincing
the world
that deception
is truth.
The devil
is a liar.
And sometimes
he walks
among us
wearing the mask
of virtue.
Iran,
your glory
is now known
by the world.
You stood
against two
nuclear powers,
United States
and Israel.
For years,
America bullied you.
But in silence,
you prepared yourself
for danger.
And when
the war came,
you fought back
like a tiger.
What your enemies
never understood
was this—
The spirit
of the Persian people
was forged
through thousands
of years
of history.
Empires came.
Empires fell.
But Persia
endured.
Today, Iran,
many see you
as a hero.
You showed
the weak nations
that determination
can challenge
great power.
You possessed
terrible power
beneath the ground,
yet wisdom
stopped your hand.
They called you
a terrorist state.
But history
will remember
who brought war
to your door first.
And now
the world watches
as history changes.
For Iran
stood alone
against powerful nations
and forced
the world
to think again
about power,
resistance,
and destiny.
For every empire
that worships power
eventually learns
that pride alone
cannot protect
the soul
of a nation.
In the quiet rooms where maps are breathed upon,
where borders are inked like veins across the Earth,
we speak in numbers—
not of souls, but of strain,
of harvests thinning under a swollen sky.
The arithmetic is cold,
yet it does not lie—
too many hands upon too little soil,
too many hungers circling the same fire.
Stemming what cannot be sustained,
not with the violence of sudden decree,
but with the measured hand of foresight—
a discipline of future over present desire.
For what is mercy,
if it feeds the moment
and starves the century?
The child yet unborn
flies buzzing around their crusty eyes
stands beside us in silence,
asking not for abundance,
but for balance—
for rivers that still run,
for air that has not forgotten breath.
Power must think beyond its own shadow,
must see the curve of consequence
before it bends into collapse.
This is no easy doctrine—
to weigh life against life,
to choose restraint
in a world that worships increase.
Yet history will not pardon blindness.
It will record, without trembling,
whether we governed the tide—
or were taken by it.
Bringing babies into the world just to watch them starve.
The slave is made by force or by choice, the slave some say is a curse.
The slave worships or submits, they choose the path that makes them sick or glad.
The slave has to follow the master, making them slave to things that can be awful.
The slave has needs like food, money, love, and many more unclear, like a tree needs sun and water the slave has needs and gets dependent.
The slave is not always negative; it can be a choice that makes it glad. Like a team that works for good, it has one that is at the head.
The slave is of its environment changing, moving and contributing, like energy it moves, giving it power all of its own.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always on my journey home.
The Icon
A famous actor is dead, we viewers
saw him decorously dead in a bed
I have seen this actor in movies playing
handsome cowboy, nothing rugged
no jaw clenched or hateful snarling
White smile when on horseback
The sainted Guardian interviews others
stars, who loved him
An actress, who, during filming, saw him
Every day, yes, he was the greatest
wondered why she didn't fall in love
One worships an Icon
many of people
worships their so real god ~
money just sad fact
Would it be safer to be born as a white person
In a world that worships them
What would it take for the world to accept black
When we have always been treated as less than
What would the world look like if we chose peace
Where our hands connect in the name of justice
But you don't want this
Clearly
Cause if you did we wouldn't live in a world of injustice
Where the only language you speak is racist rhetoric
Where your only purpose
Is to spread hatred
To a race that wants nothing more than to be accepted
But are met with your envy turned racist
So what makes you hate black people
Is it because when you look in the mirror
It cracks with jealousy
Is it because you see our potential
Or is it because our blackness is to political
To the point where you decide you have to get rid of us
And if you agree with this
With racism
You are sick and twisted
And if you believe in the devil
Even he would agree that your evil
They called him average, just five on ten,
Lost in a crowd of sharper men.
Grades like chains, dreams on hold,
In a system that worships marks in gold.
He laughed too loud, he lived too free,
Not built for this factory of a degree.
He saw the stars beyond the test,
While the world just chased what they thought was best.
His notebook held more than equations or rules,
It held rebellion inked in the margins of schools.
They mocked his rank, ignored his spark,
Yet he was the flame that lit the dark.
For life's not a GPA or a boardroom race,
It's passion and madness and falling from grace.
So judge not the soul by the number it bears,
Some diamonds are made under careless stares.
To every "5 point someone" out there today,
You're more than the world will ever say.
Rise, not in ranks—but in the sky—
For dreams don’t fail, even when marks lie.
so icky
so stinky
so gross
that’s what we were told growing up
i didn’t talk to them because
boys had cooties
he hits me because he likes me
he flirts by making fun of me
he talks about me to his friends
and says i’m easy
is this what love is like?
i’ve never had anything real
he pays for me
he opens doors for me
he worships me
why is this different
from what we were taught
these aren’t the standards i’ve been used to
is this love?
I have loved like windows love the morning-
quietly, without asking to be noticed,
just hoping someone would open them.
There were nights
when the moon knew more about me
than anyone ever would-
how I curled inward,
folding grief into origami birds,
sending them across invisible winds
toward the edge of forgetting.
I have lost things I never held-
names, chances, whole lives
that might've been mine
in another version of the world.
And yet I still dream in color.
There is a longing
that does not shout
but lingers in doorways
-in the way I hesitate
before saying I'm Fine
It builds altars out of absence
and worships with quiet hands.
But healing,
it does not arrive like spring.
It comes with the slow thaw of winter-
a drip,
a pause,
another drip.
Some days, I am the storm.
Others, the shore that survives it.
I have learned to carry my name
without apology,
to wear my scars
as punctuation marks-
not endings,
but proof that the story moved forward.
And if I ever forget who I am,
let me return to the silence-
not to disappear,
but to listen
to the heartbeat beneath the noise.
The gods are online today,
Updating their laws like software patches,
Fixing glitches in heaven while we glitch on earth,
Typing commandments no one reads,
Uploading sermons no one feels.
They scroll through prayers like spam emails,
Ignore the bleeding body in the dirt,
Reward the loudest liars,
And punish the quiet truth.
In their group chats,
They laugh at those like me —
Broken ribs, broken voice, broken trust —
Another ticket closed,
Another sinner "served."
The village bows to their screens,
Worships the edits, fears the updates,
And I,
I am just a bug in their system,
Flagged for deletion because I dared defend myself.
My innocence is offline,
My pain is offline,
Only the image matters here:
The curated guilt,
The viral shame.
The gods are online —
But none of them are listening.
Whirlwinds,
Teaching me faith,
Whirlwinds,
Trying to make me fear,
But rather I hear,
My Father in his tool shed,
Making hungry fed,
Making naked clothed,
Reversing status roles,
Saving every soul,
Whirlwinds,
Teaching me faith,
Thoughts race,
As I realize they are a sign of the coming Sun,
Who worships the Son,
Whirlwinds,
Portending of blessings I never thought possible,
Whirlwinds,
Thank you!!!!!
Validation
(A lone voice whispers)
Are there two types of characters in this world
To be seen
Ranging through love
To business, and everything else in-between
Those who do take risks, and those who hate taking chances, and making mistakes
Which one are you?
A.
A risk-taker
Or
B.
An idolater of stepping on the brakes
For sometimes,
Is it better to have known something
Briefly
That might have had real potential, to be truly special
Or would you rather linger lost
Forever
Taunted
By self-doubts, many whispering, red devils
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Foundation.
Would you rather be haunted by self-doubts, about taking chances?
With introspection?
Like an idolater who worships, stepping on the brakes?
Or are you courageous enough to take chances, and risk all, on something special.
With a high chance of making mistakes?
To never be lost, forever taunted
By self-doubts, many whispering red devils
Who'll appear right out of the minds, many gates?
(If you're reading this far, you must be a type A.
You have my Validation of being a risk-taker.
Hit like if you are. Salute)
Let those failed lights
keep their starry darks,
no hidden treasures have
they –
gems who hoard
their sparks, as bushel
a-cap heaven’s dearest
light,
blessed with angel appearance
and nature
now in free mirror fall
kingdom sovereign pool of self
worships self-love, that’s all --
The new life of the believer,
reborn into Him,
the Anointed One's grace.
Yeshua's risen resurrection
of the deliverance of salvation,
our sins cleansed from the
dark rocky abyss.
The gold of the Father's
life-giving presence,
the order of His stars,
and our adoration worships
the King of the ages.
The new life of the believer,
so grateful in our celebration
of redemption's loving gift,
that heals our soul's sorrowed
life journey. ~
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