The voice affirmed my desired choice
without coercion or hint of force,
so I tell myself to calm the shame
that quietly hints my mind has changed.
I’m choosing to fully understand
the real facts that most may ****
they’re not self-aware like the overman,
confident, above all, of the perfect plan.
I’m choosing to hold my ground,
stay in this bunker with a matched crowd,
each one assuring it’s for the best,
in fear conflated with maturity’s test.
I’m choosing to accept righteous facts,
or the circumstances that may come to pass,
as the world turns from its mendacity
and to the fullest truth man may conceive.
Wait.
Please tell me
why there’s a qualm,
and this narrative
unduly creates alarm.
Relax.
The voice assures: this denies your decisions,
instead, agree with the wisdom of life’s division.
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260515.
May 16
May 16, 2026 at 1:35 PM UTC
peace → silence
Truth conveyed is truth received,
as substitutions are perceived;
granted by the voice or common sense,
it matters not where it’s dispensed.
freedom → obedience
Everything is determined by institutions,
their ideology the basis of all conclusions;
the knee is bent when the words commit
followers to the wisdom beyond their wits.
care → coercion
The emotional is justifiably removed,
no longer needed in a world known cruel,
where only the right and mighty dominate
over their fellow creatures not yet awake.
refinement → suffering
Suffering is now the greatest purpose;
no longer do comforts matter in this circus,
when the inmates end up running the show,
their madness agrees with repeated blows.
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260514.
May 15
May 15, 2026 at 4:30 PM UTC
The phrases were on handmade signs,
strewn on pamphlets of coarse design,
scripted through men who knew less than most,
inspired by passions the voice invoked.
Some spread this tripe to stir the crowd,
base literature with truth disavowed,
as inflammatory as the petrol bomb,
igniting rage that reason can't resolve.
These rabble-rousers of the first rank,
scoundrels who had their goodness tanked,
these are the leaders who shouted loud
to their adoring followers that life had cowed.
These are
the distant memories,
a reminder of
present treachery,
silenced as my voice
now exclaims
what the past monsters
said with no shame.
The hate-stained logic has checked out,
incorporated in my deepest thoughts;
convergent thinking brought to its end
when black turned to white and thick to thin.
Leaders are molded in the heat of war;
I'm no longer the weakling of past discord.
Blood sharpens steel among the freaks,
spurred on by chants that crush the meek.
The phrases flow through my snarling lips,
strewn to capture those I can eclipse,
scripted on pages of darkest traits;
my voice has transformed to become hate.
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260513.
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 11:13 PM UTC
Foundations are built on history books,
continuously updated to mold the confused,
wondering why what came before is no more,
destroyed because existence is what’s controlled.
Witness book bonfires
with buyer's remorse.
The past is the gateway to the future,
with the present dictating the brooding past;
this twisted pretzel determines who controls
how the inevitable outcomes are also goals.
A name missing from history
follows fate's course
There’s no memory or record impervious
to the dictations deciding the obvious;
the public is malleable to the voice’s mere words,
assuring revolt of the masses is forever deferred.
The surest of jails
are the chains of the veil.
The current narrative is fully self-evident,
past meeting future to a present then regiment;
everything is placed to fulfill the just cause
as priorities are framed by thunderous applause.
Corrections are made
to mistakes of past days.
Don’t be concerned if the truth is devoid;
it really didn’t matter when control is deployed.
Acceptance presupposes the desired reward:
existence assured at the cost of past lore.
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260512.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 3:18 PM UTC
“What you believe you saw must be replaced,”
said the voice with the assurance of a saint.
Your perception is to be fully denied
when remembering ceases to be a valid guide.
“The collective knows what’s for the best.”
No longer does your memory serve as the test
when the crowd has overwhelming confidence
that their visions are sourced by providence.
“Social validation is the golden rule.”
A crushing pressure served by trusted fools,
pushing aside doubt before there’s defiance.
The new rationale is decided by fictitious science.
“Your identity has become our currency,”
worth more than gold in hands of tyranny.
The society is thus bought and sold
when intrinsic valuation is controlled.
“Truth has been resolved.
Your evidence is now dissolved,
leaving behind what came before
as the forced reality becomes your Lord.”
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260511.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 9:25 PM UTC
Restructuring your life is a sure alibi,
stating kindly advice and society's lies.
Some believe that pain stands alone,
an artifact born in time’s tomb,
and then remembered as a transgress,
forever tainted as the mind’s abscess.
A voice states this is a lie;
the program provides for those who die
to the perceptions that ruled the past,
while still acknowledging an old transgress.
Cruelty was mixed with exploiting actions,
each one worse than the last as unwanted infractions.
These systems were thought to be cruel
in the hands of those who were destined to rule.
The voice agrees that the fates were extreme,
but discipline is based on reluctant screams;
while sacrifices may shed the innocent blood,
the outcomes put aside the need to judge.
Damage is evidence of wrongdoing’s steel;
in the wounds there are scars that don’t heal,
cut to the bone by the selfish betrayals
enacted by villains that society cradles.
These are fake thoughts, coos the voice;
the process was required, so please rejoice.
Calm explanations demand that growth is embraced,
manifesting as benefits in a future of grace.
This reframing heals all in systems of power;
accountability becomes mute in the high towers.
Embrace the words conveyed by the voice:
“Your sufferings were the results of self-choice.”
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260510.
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 9:32 PM UTC
So many questions surround my churning mind,
asking for assurance that I can't provide;
if only somebody could salve my dread
with words that calm my throbbing head.
How did I get to the present state,
this stead far from my beginning place?
“The journey starts with a single step,
now gladly forgotten in amnesic bliss.”
Why do my memories blur to a dull gray
when I'm challenged to explain why I've strayed?
“It's best to not remember your past misdeeds,
the bane of those who strive to please.”
Who is responsible for what I've become,
a stranger to the ones that I once loved?
“You don't need the fake and corrupt,
the patent phonies that life deducts.”
Where did my high path become the low,
the wide road traveled by the hero's foes?
“Villains are the best of friends
to those who seek to grift and win.”
When did the truth become a commodity,
sold and bought outside of common honesty?
“Capitalism forgives all transgressions,
the disparities promoted by obscene successes.”
What can I do to find my way home again,
the safe abode where comfort met the pain?
“Those who wander are not lost;
instead, they strive to grab the most.”
The present has been fully justified
by the edits reshaping the pliant past;
all my questions have been addressed
by the voice assuring me it's for the best.
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260509.
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 8:29 PM UTC
Trust the system to state the way;
the future’s set by rote agency,
predetermined and unstoppable,
a seductive comfort through the audible.
It’s well to find comfort in core narratives,
the waking lullaby without any alternatives,
as power is exacted from the willing hosts,
focused on the goals found to be uppermost.
Willful deviance is established as impractical;
the stated inevitable is purely rational.
Don’t imagine that life can be otherwise;
the group’s submission is joy in disguise.
Don’t deviate or think to stray;
to do so will have hell to surely pay.
That is a place the faithful steer clear,
by their obedience to the guiding fear.
Resistance is punished to firmly ensure
pragmatic compliance is followed by the pure;
to do otherwise would surely be naive
when destruction waits for those deceived.
The voice makes decisions as a tool,
power exacted from the confused,
releasing burdens in fair exchange
for truth denied and freedom caged.
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260508.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 6:39 AM UTC
Assurances given are life received
to the person bereft of certainty,
dying slowly if the healing balm
is not applied by the willing tongue.
It’s a commodity that most desire,
be they kings or be they squires;
they seek what’s not possessed,
sustained by the words that bless.
Trust becomes the core currency,
given in exchange to the minority,
knowing arcanum by rote belief,
spoke predictions that bring relief.
Each is a subscription of the heart,
transactions returning to the start,
through cycles of sustaining loops
manifested by the doting groups.
The voice will echo authority,
denying the bane of accuracy;
interpretations hold a greater weight
when assurances ensure a circling fate.
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260506.
May 7
May 7, 2026 at 6:22 AM UTC
The hidden world is now revealed
by grace of perception now received.
Strange hillocks between valleyed depths,
a scene visible without equal breadth.
The signal is beamed straight into my brain,
instructing buried secrets few can explain.
Mysteries wrapped in enigmatic veils
are clearly seen beyond shadowed pales.
The voice has granted me this boon,
whispering secrets beneath the full moon,
each more puissant than the one before,
establishing illusion as reality’s cure.
The others cannot discern this domain,
where spectres caper and phantoms reign;
the fantastical becomes the norm
when belief transcends mundane forms.
Now sane thoughts are left behind,
no longer participating in worlds aligned
with those who don’t possess insight
to patterns born from the fevered mind.
© 2026. Lynn Green. All Rights Reserved. 20260505.
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 3:44 PM UTC