17 poems

Bureaucracy, or Better Safe Than Sorry

“Better safe than sorry”—
That’s the tyrant’s story.
Rules with twisted meaning
Keep the fools careening,
Drain their strength away,
Steal each precious day.
In their cushioned chairs,
Vermin strike grand airs.
Who will dare proclaim
Madness by its name?
Sanity has fled—
Common sense lies dead.
Nonsense, like a drain,
Sucks what strength remains,
While the grasping clerk
Feeds upon your work.



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Bureaucracy, or Nothing Must Go Wrong

Nothing must go wrong—
That’s the bureaucrat’s song.
Every crooked law
Keeps the weak in awe,
Robbing time and will
With relentless skill.
From their padded thrones,
Vipers gnaw the bones.
Where’s the doctor’s pen
To diagnose such men?
Reason’s torn apart,
Madness rules the heart.
Like a vacuum's roar,
Absurdity wants more,
Till the last reserves
Feed official worms.



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Life in Lies

The vermin must be brought to heel,
Not drowned in speeches void of zeal.
The fools will never wake or see—
So Lies and Rot reign endlessly.
Hell on earth is all around,
Where scoundrels grind the helpless down.
Their "laws" strike harder every day,
While media loudly bray:
"Life is freer! Life is bright!"
Never has there been such blight.
To rot in Evil, stripped of pride—
They call that life... and live the lie.



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Pseudo-Life

The vermin must be forced to yield,
Not fed with chatter as a shield.
The fools refuse to face the Light,
So Rot and Falsehood win the fight.
Earth has turned to Hell below;
Crueler still the tyrants grow.
Every "law" inflicts more pain,
While the media scream again:
"Freedom grows! Rejoice! You're free!"
Nothing could be more empty.
Rotting deep in evil's pit—
Fools call that a life... and fit.



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The Herd for Slaughter

A cat is truly wise—
No genius in disguise,
Yet sees beneath the skin,
Unlike the sheep penned in.

Sheep pretend they're men,
Served upon the tray, and then
Lost within the lying haze
Where hidden monsters rule the maze.

Only few can truly see
What lurks beneath reality.
Gavvah is no empty dream—
They feed upon the human stream.

From childhood, minds are bent,
The soul grows weak and spent.
Strength is drained away each year;
The flock grows dull with fear.

Not enough gavvah now—
Only water fills the trough.
Evil cannot drink its fill;
Soon they'll breed a stronger will.

A newer breed they'll raise,
Sharper for the coming days,
While the beasts grow bold once more,
Drinking gavvah to the core.

Long the world's a fenced corral;
Life is measured by the fall.
Wake before the funeral pyre
Of your Spirit's last desire.

Selling out is all in vain—
All have sunk below disdain,
Lower than the lowest deep.
Liars sing the flock to sleep,

Yet no lie will halt the storm.
When Cataclysm takes its form,
Fascism's faithful flock shall fall—
Slaves of Evil, one and all.

So perhaps it had to be...
Nothing but a Feeding Herd.

---

Variations of the last two lines.

Perhaps that's justice after all—
A Herd that's bred to feed and fall.

or

Perhaps that's all the herd was for:
To feed the beasts... and be no more.



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The Final Argument

The cop's the final argument—
For Lies are stronger still.
So seize the moment while you can,
Before they break your will.

Soon the blows will fall once more,
Each with some "official" cause.
In this world of filth and rot,
Reason finds no place at all—

Not among the witless crowd,
Lost beneath deception's shroud.
That's the oldest truth we know:
Every net comes empty home.



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Last Resort

The cop's the final proof of Lies—
Their empire still prevails.
So breathe while fortune grants a pause
Before oppression sails.

Soon they'll strike with greater force,
Always with a grand excuse.
Mind has no abode in muck,
Where fools embrace abuse.

That has always been the key:
Empty nets from every sea.



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The World Turned Upside Down

"When one remembers that we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained."
— Mark Twain


The Soviet order, so "crystal-clear,"
The years of "reforms," today's dark reign—
One truth remains: insanity's here,
While reason belongs to a gifted brain.

The door to inversion swings open in youth;
You're pushed through its threshold before you can choose.
Then years are consumed searching after the truth:
Why tyrannies change into fresh-looking ruses.

For slavery lasting through centuries' flight
Can never survive upon violence alone.
The masters must cripple the mind from first light,
Till fools are the harvest their empire has sown.

Thus madness engulfs every soul from the start;
Delusion matures into full-blown disease.
The madhouse extends through each province and heart,
Where people are fashioned as cattle with ease.

Invisible hands pull the strings every day,
Controlling the media, shaping each lie.
Yet even these servants are thrown away,
Dragged down to the depths where all dignity dies.

Their triumph was plain: every muzzle, each shot,
The CowID panic, the fear and disgrace.
Oppose the absurd—and you're branded unsound,
Declared an outcast to be put in your place.

The sick now prescribe every cure for the sane,
Then slogans drive millions to slaughter once more.
It ends... yet the cycle begins yet again:
Fresh lies, fresh campaigns, fresh blood on the floor.

A madhouse. A cattle pen. Then comes the Camp—
Worldwide and digital, flawless in scope.
The white flag bears surrender's crimson stamp,
While cheerful chants extinguish the last hope.

One path still remains for the soul left awake:
Step out of the madness, refuse to conform.
Seek Spirit's own Source for your own spirit's sake—
Don't march with the herd toward the camp in the storm.



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Beyond Saving…

Grotesque, disgracing creatures—
The overwhelming horde.
The world's one giant pasture now,
A fenced and guarded ward.

A beast beneath the skin,
A cow with jackal's grin.
The herd believes each fresh deceit;
Its reason's growing thin.

Then anything will do—
They're happy as they are.
"Just don't you bother me!"
Their only guiding star.

Their heads are built for chewing,
Not thinking deep at all.
The mind has long grown vestigial;
False plagues become the call.

Then rashism comes as "normal,"
Accepted without shame.
The jackal's thrill awakens—
The outcome stays the same.

Whatever's truly difficult
Defeats the vacant brain.
It's checkmate in their "consciousness"—
Delusion rules again.

The Hidden Fiend keeps digitizing
Every sheep in line.
Subcutaneous "upgrades"
Seem perfectly benign

To those devoid of Spirit,
Whose minds have long grown numb.
As long as fodder fills the trough,
No higher thoughts will come.

The Spirit's voice is silent now,
Its echoes fade away.
The barn is past all saving...
Too late to stop decay.

---

Variant of the last stanza

The Spirit's voice is lost at last,
No soul remains to save.
The barn has crossed the point of no return—
It marches to its grave.



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"Necessity"

"Freedom is the recognition of necessity."
— Baruch Spinoza, 17th century


"Necessity" to trust the lie,
To sell your soul, your truth deny—
Such is the freedom slaves embrace,
A prison masked by borrowed grace.

Betray yourself a single time,
The mind soon follows in decline.
The system drinks your strength away
Through fear, obedience, and dismay.

It breeds corrupting codes of thought,
Where Spirit's death is cheaply bought.
The soulless need but one desire:
To thrive while sinking ever higher

Into a kingdom built on chains.
Its banners change, its outward names,
Its slogans, idols, flags, and guise—
The core remains the selfsame lies.

The CowID years proved the plan:
They muzzled woman, child, and man.
So many swallowed fear on cue,
And wore the mask because they knew...

Or thought they knew. Then came the chain.
What follows next? The same old game:
New tales of terror fill the air,
While fascist madness blossoms there.

Rashism calls itself "the free,"
Its beacon shines dishonestly.
Propaganda, black as tar,
Smears every mind, both near and far.

A gang of beasts transformed the land
Into a festering wasteland.
Yet fools believe each tale once more,
And march obedient into war.

To meet another, just the same,
With rifle raised in someone else's name.
The price is always paid in blood—
The chains grow tighter than they should.

"Tomorrow life will bloom," they say,
Inside the Camp of the Digital Age.
When strength is spent and hope is gone,
The perfect prison marches on.

The soulless enter without pain,
No conscience left, no thoughts remain.
Not citizens—but nameless dead,
By fear and endless falsehood led.

They help destroy the final spark
Of reason in the gathering dark.
The fools defend their prison walls,
Believing peace is worth it all—

Accepting every evil's claim,
Provided comfort bears its name.

One hope remains: Cataclysm.
To sweep away triumphant lies,
Submission, fascist dogma's reign,
And "Necessity"'s gilded chain.

For freedom built on fear and fraud
Was never freedom before God.



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The Lonely Voice

A poet's lonely, steadfast cry,
Amidst the madness, fraud, and lie,
Rises high—but none will hear:
Media's stench keeps breathing fear.



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The Poet's Cry

One poet's voice ascends in vain
Above the lies, the fear, the pain.
Yet none can hear its truthful plea—
The media's stench won't let us breathe.



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One lonely poet calls aloud
Above the falsehood of the crowd.
His words are lost, dissolved by fear—
The stench of media fills the air.



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So-Called "Love"

Their "love" for nature, land, and race
Is but a mask, a foul disgrace.
Since childhood, filth has warped the soul,
Till madness swallows every whole.

The schizophrenic finds delight
In lies that smother inner light.
A slave cannot sincerely love
While trapped in fraud he's dreaming of.

Down in the mire, deep in the slime,
"Love" is praised all of the time.
Schools and media sing the tune—
To fool the masses all too soon.

Without such sweetness, sugar-coated,
War on Mind stays less promoted.
So they coo and softly plead,
Planting every fatal seed.

Then mindless stumps produce their sons
And urge them on with beating drums:
"Don't be afraid! For Home! For Love!"
March out beneath the flags above.

So idiots have bled for ages,
Driven by propagandist pages.
The media conjure foes at will—
Five minutes... and the hate can kill.

Where love has long since disappeared,
The hateful heart is easily steered.
Wild delusions flood the brain;
The lie becomes a binding chain.

When all is slavery and fear,
Each louse sees enemies appear.
"Leave me alone" no longer lives—
War is the tribute darkness gives.

The ending's simple: horned deceit,
Disguised as care, makes fraud complete.
This broken world, so dull and blind,
Will march into one Camp designed...

Where human lives are spent like dust,
Consumed by lies, betrayal, lust.

---

Variant of the last two stanzas

Where slavery is all that's known,
Each parasite breeds hate alone.
"Just leave me be" has long since died—
War is the tax of poisoned pride.

The horned god, beneath false care,
Leads all by fraud into despair.
This crippled world, deceived and numb,
Marches toward the Camp to come.



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Center Yourself in Spirit

The system's insane.
The thinkers remain
With sarcasm alone.
One question is thrown:

Is rotting as sheep
Beneath the Horned One
A fate worth to keep?
His judgment is done.

The robe's stained with lies,
Yet sentence is grim.
The world's foul disguise
Is rotten and dim.

So many fears,
So many lies
Fill Earth's living Hell
Before our eyes.

A plague-ridden pen,
A deathward trail—
The only escape
From horror's veil.

Cataclysm comes.
For slavery,
For fascist rule,
For tyranny,

It sweeps Hell away,
Exposing the lie.
The system was built
On fraud from the start.

One louse is the same
As every "great" lord;
Without any Spirit,
A demon's restored.

So center in Spirit.
Let darkness depart.
To Hell with the jackals—
Protect your own heart.

---

Variants of the last stanza

Center yourself in Spirit.
Let all demons rage.
To hell with Hell's vermin—
Step out of their cage.

or

Stand centered in Spirit.
Let Hell howl in vain.
To hell with its jackals,
Its torment and chain.



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The Plague of Madness and Folly

Fools and brainless parasites—
Fascism gathers all its might
To wage its war on those who think.
The mad surround you, never shrink.

No passage through this plague you'll find;
You'll perish with the witless blind.
The muzzle proved the whole charade—
Some starved... while Someone watched the game.



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Plague of the Mind

Idiots and fools abound;
Fascism gathers, tightly wound.
Every thinking soul's a foe—
Madness leaves no room to grow.

Soon you'll fall among the cursed,
Victim of the plague's dark thirst.
Masks revealed what few could see:
Someone starved... deliberately.