6d
Family Crash
A family's wreck—its cause is plain,
Kids born of past delights now pay.
That wreck’s their burden, marked by pain—
"Success!" they hear from day to day.
---------------------
Doubt
"To doubt is to show reverence for truth."
—Ernest Renan
The mindless herd repeats, on cue,
A set of phrases, dull and plain.
But doubt can tear their world in two—
Their empty chants would be in vain.
To plant a doubt in such a mass
Is near impossible—why try?
Their world is built on lies, alas,
For truth would make their small minds die.
And should you speak, the blind will fight—
Truth’s fate is bleak in such a land.
But if you never doubt what’s "right",
Then shame on you—you misunderstand.
---------------------
Museum’s Spirit?
Like a crypt…
Walls are cold.
Gallery—
A painter, old,
Blind with rage,
Mind decayed.
Light's not caged—
It's self-conveyed.
Let it shine
Deep inside!
Call the blind:
"Wake with pride!"
Shape the core,
Dare to fight!
Twist the "wrong"—
But keep it right!
---------------------
Fierce Demise
Dissenting minds—but none to think,
"Soul’s deep urges"—soulless cries.
We freeze like systems on the brink,
Drowned in gigabytes of lies.
We fail to grasp, yet pass it down,
So children grow still more unwise.
Forever lost in filth we drown—
False hopes and demons’ thin disguise.
No heart, no mind—this plague has spread,
A few escaped, the rest obey.
We bow with ease, our wills near dead,
Too used to crawling to dismay.
On bended knees, we wait in vain—
What’s left to come? The final breath.
No hymn will reach the wrathful flame—
Armageddon spawns Fierce Death.
---------------------
Toxic "Culture"
"At least bacterial cultures can be seen under a microscope."
—Jadwiga Rutkowska
I stocked up scopes—both micro, stetho,
Telescopes to aid my quest.
I sought for culture—found but echoes
Of lies and filth the germs expressed.
Fake virtues mask a foul regime,
Where fascists play the righteous role.
A second layer—hell’s own scheme,
A lid of brass to cloak it whole.
They'll seal the world—farewell, "refinement"!
I searched in vain, and here it ends.
No foolish bullet brings confinement—
Armageddon kills, my friends.
---------------------
Economic Cattle
Market games—a grand disguise...
How to yoke the herd so nice,
Make it walk into the chain,
Thinking it’s their rightful gain?
Oh, so simple—reshape all,
Craft a world where slaughter stalls
Seem removed (but wars suffice),
Turn the market into vice.
Choice is scarce—so grab the yoke,
Drag your kin to stay afloat.
Step inside the penned-up toil—
Earn your fodder, drown in oil.
---------------------
Sieve
"With most new acquaintances, our first thought is whether they may be of use to us; and if they are not, then for most people, once they realize this, that person becomes nothing."
—Arthur Schopenhauer
I walk—meet nothing on my way,
Then more of nothing—endless rows.
The world’s a sieve, where few can stay,
The rest fell through, lost far below.
Those who could shake this void of spite,
Who saw the roots of all decay,
Were cast aside—denied the right
To live, not use and throw away.
We've learned too well this hollow game,
And so the sieve expands its hole.
Few strings remain, yet all the same,
They, too, will vanish with the whole.
---------------------
Infernal Sumo
The "sumo champs" have seized the ring,
Pushed the rest beyond the line.
Yet the fallen, wavering,
Claim forgiveness—lost in mind.
Fat and shameless, crude and sly,
Rules the ring with pompous glee.
Thinkers? Worthless. Question why?
"Skinny flies" aren’t meant to be.
Circle Nine—or is it lower?
Does it matter? Hard to tell.
Those outside grow weak, sink slower
In the fat ones' lying hell.
---------------------
Diagnosis
Is the world a whining wreck,
Or a doctor telling true?
Drunks and fools—just check the specs—
Three in four. The math is crude.
A simple test, a dumb Cow-ID,
Unmasked the minds—exposed the show.
Even the doctor feels defeated...
The world’s near nothing. Now we know.
---------------------
Hell’s Despair
"This world is the work of some devil who called creatures into being just to savor their torment."
—Arthur Schopenhauer
So bleak, so hollow,
Disgraced from the start.
A wretched creator,
A slave in his heart.
The traitors rise higher,
Deception rules minds,
The blind led by liars,
All twisted in kind.
They fight one another—
Their anguish must flow,
To feed their dark master,
Corrupting below,
Instilling pure fury,
Instilling pure woe.
--- Total 10 poems. ---
A family's wreck—its cause is plain,
Kids born of past delights now pay.
That wreck’s their burden, marked by pain—
"Success!" they hear from day to day.
---------------------
Doubt
"To doubt is to show reverence for truth."
—Ernest Renan
The mindless herd repeats, on cue,
A set of phrases, dull and plain.
But doubt can tear their world in two—
Their empty chants would be in vain.
To plant a doubt in such a mass
Is near impossible—why try?
Their world is built on lies, alas,
For truth would make their small minds die.
And should you speak, the blind will fight—
Truth’s fate is bleak in such a land.
But if you never doubt what’s "right",
Then shame on you—you misunderstand.
---------------------
Museum’s Spirit?
Like a crypt…
Walls are cold.
Gallery—
A painter, old,
Blind with rage,
Mind decayed.
Light's not caged—
It's self-conveyed.
Let it shine
Deep inside!
Call the blind:
"Wake with pride!"
Shape the core,
Dare to fight!
Twist the "wrong"—
But keep it right!
---------------------
Fierce Demise
Dissenting minds—but none to think,
"Soul’s deep urges"—soulless cries.
We freeze like systems on the brink,
Drowned in gigabytes of lies.
We fail to grasp, yet pass it down,
So children grow still more unwise.
Forever lost in filth we drown—
False hopes and demons’ thin disguise.
No heart, no mind—this plague has spread,
A few escaped, the rest obey.
We bow with ease, our wills near dead,
Too used to crawling to dismay.
On bended knees, we wait in vain—
What’s left to come? The final breath.
No hymn will reach the wrathful flame—
Armageddon spawns Fierce Death.
---------------------
Toxic "Culture"
"At least bacterial cultures can be seen under a microscope."
—Jadwiga Rutkowska
I stocked up scopes—both micro, stetho,
Telescopes to aid my quest.
I sought for culture—found but echoes
Of lies and filth the germs expressed.
Fake virtues mask a foul regime,
Where fascists play the righteous role.
A second layer—hell’s own scheme,
A lid of brass to cloak it whole.
They'll seal the world—farewell, "refinement"!
I searched in vain, and here it ends.
No foolish bullet brings confinement—
Armageddon kills, my friends.
---------------------
Economic Cattle
Market games—a grand disguise...
How to yoke the herd so nice,
Make it walk into the chain,
Thinking it’s their rightful gain?
Oh, so simple—reshape all,
Craft a world where slaughter stalls
Seem removed (but wars suffice),
Turn the market into vice.
Choice is scarce—so grab the yoke,
Drag your kin to stay afloat.
Step inside the penned-up toil—
Earn your fodder, drown in oil.
---------------------
Sieve
"With most new acquaintances, our first thought is whether they may be of use to us; and if they are not, then for most people, once they realize this, that person becomes nothing."
—Arthur Schopenhauer
I walk—meet nothing on my way,
Then more of nothing—endless rows.
The world’s a sieve, where few can stay,
The rest fell through, lost far below.
Those who could shake this void of spite,
Who saw the roots of all decay,
Were cast aside—denied the right
To live, not use and throw away.
We've learned too well this hollow game,
And so the sieve expands its hole.
Few strings remain, yet all the same,
They, too, will vanish with the whole.
---------------------
Infernal Sumo
The "sumo champs" have seized the ring,
Pushed the rest beyond the line.
Yet the fallen, wavering,
Claim forgiveness—lost in mind.
Fat and shameless, crude and sly,
Rules the ring with pompous glee.
Thinkers? Worthless. Question why?
"Skinny flies" aren’t meant to be.
Circle Nine—or is it lower?
Does it matter? Hard to tell.
Those outside grow weak, sink slower
In the fat ones' lying hell.
---------------------
Diagnosis
Is the world a whining wreck,
Or a doctor telling true?
Drunks and fools—just check the specs—
Three in four. The math is crude.
A simple test, a dumb Cow-ID,
Unmasked the minds—exposed the show.
Even the doctor feels defeated...
The world’s near nothing. Now we know.
---------------------
Hell’s Despair
"This world is the work of some devil who called creatures into being just to savor their torment."
—Arthur Schopenhauer
So bleak, so hollow,
Disgraced from the start.
A wretched creator,
A slave in his heart.
The traitors rise higher,
Deception rules minds,
The blind led by liars,
All twisted in kind.
They fight one another—
Their anguish must flow,
To feed their dark master,
Corrupting below,
Instilling pure fury,
Instilling pure woe.
--- Total 10 poems. ---
