During a time of trans persecution I read the beatitudes 

Griefblessed; weeks grave and the

gnashing terror; when they

revile you kill you make

you mud and ash of

yourself and your

heart's empty chambers

clamor on in half

silence; when this is

the world; that which

comes to pass; when

they torture you and yours until the

clouds fall out of the

sky; and you crane

your wilting neck despite;

tarnished gaze on all

you will inherit;