I speak to you,
You human-husk.
You sycophantic whelp.
Finding meaning
as anonymous-agent—
Iniquitous in action
And sleeve-worn faction;
dutiful ****
you are.
Small, masked, sanctioned—
playing fool for force.
You sow the hate
And reap the hearse.
A neighbor murdered
in close-knit streets.
******* *****
your words—
But just
before
the time to breathe,
digest the inhumane—
Another’s
cuffed,
then killed.
Shot just down the block,
A picture, poisoned
Within a single frame.
How bereft of good
must one become,
by choice,
to voice
the evil
that you shill?
Wicked, wan, wasted:
a cannibal ant
against the hill.
Scurry across a corpse-strewn canvas,
as you must eat your fill.
A self-sufficient farm: harvesting
social ills,
threshing pain,
‘Community’:
beneath the mill.
You hide your timid face,
shed your sinful name.
Not man enough
to own your deeds,
so in victims
you place blame.
But if,
for once,
you summon the gall
enough, at least,
to meet
my eyes—
An icy chill
will fill the room
from disgust beyond disguise.
The message: clear.
Unblinking, calm:
Incise.
It is you,
Coward,
that I despise.
(I own my words.
You duck behind
bullet-backed lies).
Indentured body to the badge,
finger puppet to the trigger
of tyrant’s gun;
you fire—
yet of consequence,
you fear none.
Your mouth spins the script,
a woven verbiage of lies—
inducing confidence in craven.
A recitation, loud and cowed
chants, “Credence to contempt!”—
An incantation, mean and wile,
sung with every rising sun,
Not reveille this,
but morning’s calling to the vile.
A day, a month, a life—
it matters not, as certain comes,
In time—the Reaper
cloaked with scythe.
And, at the final judgement,
in face of last assize,
you’ll find the verdict rendered—
the sentence set—
a case already tried,
all pleas to be denied;
As it was, through Earthly-oath, your conscious actions
through which you’ve
long since died.
Whatever waits beyond this life
will not reward, will not redeem, restore.
Instead it will consume you whole,
put you back to work, wherefore—
You’ll serve (again)
as cutthroat cog
or despot’s *****
Spent,
used-up,
disposed.
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 9:10 PM UTC
I speak to you,
You human-husk.
You sycophantic whelp.
Finding meaning
as anonymous-agent—
Iniquitous in action
And sleeve-worn faction;
dutiful ****
you are.
Small, masked, sanctioned—
playing fool for force.
You sow the hate
And reap the hearse.
A neighbor murdered
in close-knit streets.
******* *****
your words—
But just
before
the time to breathe,
digest the inhumane—
Another’s
cuffed,
then killed.
Shot just down the block,
A picture, poisoned
Within a single frame.
How bereft of good
must one become,
by choice,
to voice
the evil
that you shill?
Wicked, wan, wasted:
a cannibal ant
against the hill.
Scurry across a corpse-strewn canvas,
as you must eat your fill.
A self-sufficient farm: harvesting
social ills,
threshing pain,
‘Community’:
beneath the mill.
You hide your timid face,
shed your sinful name.
Not man enough
to own your deeds,
so in victims
you place blame.
But if,
for once,
you summon the gall
enough, at least,
to meet
my eyes—
An icy chill
will fill the room
from disgust beyond disguise.
The message: clear.
Unblinking, calm:
Incise.
It is you,
Coward,
that I despise.
(I own my words.
You duck behind
bullet-backed lies).
Indentured body to the badge,
finger puppet to the trigger
of tyrant’s gun;
you fire—
yet of consequence,
you fear none.
Your mouth spins the script,
a woven verbiage of lies—
inducing confidence in craven.
A recitation, loud and cowed
chants, “Credence to contempt!”—
An incantation, mean and wile,
sung with every rising sun,
Not reveille this,
but morning’s calling to the vile.
A day, a month, a life—
it matters not, as certain comes,
In time—the Reaper
cloaked with scythe.
And, at the final judgement,
in face of last assize,
you’ll find the verdict rendered—
the sentence set—
a case already tried,
all pleas to be denied;
As it was, through Earthly-oath, your conscious actions
through which you’ve
long since died.
Whatever waits beyond this life
will not reward, will not redeem, restore.
Instead it will consume you whole,
put you back to work, wherefore—
You’ll serve (again)
as cutthroat cog
or despot’s *****
Spent,
used-up,
disposed.
