Persecution Mania Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A whisper of doubt, a shadow in sight,
No peace in the day, no comfort in night.
A mind that sees danger in all that it meets,
In friendly faces, in quiet of streets.

No matter the shield, no matter the wall,
A constant unease, a fear of the fall.
Each glance, each kind word, a trick to evade,
A constant alert, a world to be swayed.

This sickness can spread, like a fog on the land,
Where nations feel threatened by every hand.
The more they build up, with iron and steel,
The less they feel safe, the more they conceal.

The weapons they hoard, a terrible sign,
A danger to self, and all of mankind.
In this self-made prison, they cannot be free,
A world under siege, for all eyes to see.

So remember this truth, let it sink in deep,
The seeds of our safety, we all must now keep.
For peace is the armor, a balm for the soul,
Not weapons of war, that make us less whole.