18h
New Apocalypse, or From Hell to Hell
Hell never ends. Will death bring salvation,
Or will we wallow in filth once again?
Rot will consume every mind and each nation,
Branding the spirit with madness and stain.
"Freedom" will once more be stamped as submission,
Slavery masked as the will of the free.
Monsters obedient—newly commissioned—
Rising to rule in their vile tyranny.
Ruling in name, but in truth—merely puppets,
Guided by masters who lurk in the shade.
Cycles of ruin, descending in buckets,
Spanning through time as the future decays.
Nature will strike, yet the cycle keeps turning,
Round after round till the end of all days.
Beasts of corruption are still left there yearning—
Madness repeated—new law on display...
---------------------
German Submarine
Submarine. Heroes. Germans. War.
Yankees drop bombs—sink to the floor.
Heroes as well? Who’s keeping score?
Scoundrels on both sides—nothing more!
Fooled by the cause, they marched to fight,
Opening doors to endless night.
Madness was hailed as law and right,
Clung to delusions—lost from sight.
Demons will grant them steam and fire—
Blood-soaked baths at fate’s desire.
Tally the fallen—count the breath,
"Heroes" deceived and led to death.
---------------------
Thorough Slavery
"Those who would give up liberty to gain security deserve neither."
—Benjamin Franklin, 18th century
A Founding Father once spoke about freedom,
Yet built an empire—a fortress of chains.
No sign of liberty—none, if you seek them
Among the masses they proudly proclaim.
Laws on mere paper ensure their protection,
While chosen offenders stay high on the throne.
Through wars they inflict the worst devastation,
Outmatching villains long overthrown.
Worse than the crooks are the lawmen who guard them,
The so-called "Founders" of vile design.
Dragging the people to depths ever darker—
For all must be cattle, by Evil's assign.
---------------------
You Must Care
You must question, seek, and wonder,
Or you’ll rot in filth and shame—
Just another wretch who'd squander
All but greed and hollow fame.
Blind to evil, vice, and ruin,
Deaf to suffering and cries,
Lost in Hell, where lies are brewing—
Drunken fool with vacant eyes.
---------------------
Cunning Twist
A cunning trick, a wicked fate—
Grim Armageddon’s at the gate.
It’s almost here, yet fools stay blind,
Too dull to see the end in sight.
---------------------
The Final Countdown
The fools once were treated, but now there's no need—
They've grown into mobs, the majority breed.
The world's at its end—if not days, then in years,
The final countdown now rings in our ears.
The herds faced a test—yet they failed it in full,
The lesson is clear: time to cull every fool.
A worldwide camp they will build in its stead,
For Spirit is gone, and the mind left for dead.
And if the fool bows, staying quiet and mild,
Then straight to that camp he will march, reconciled.
---------------------
Success in Synthesis
Headfirst into walls—progress in motion,
That’s how we push through, no need for delay.
Raising a breed with blind-eyed devotion—
Fools with no conscience to stand in our way.
Foreheads of stone instead of perception—
That’s what the prophets of madness have taught.
Generations shaped by deception,
Schooled in the dogmas of nonsense and rot.
Nonsense alone is weak, just laughter,
Foreheads alone—just brittle bones.
Blend them together, and soon thereafter,
Hatred will conquer the world as its own.
Ukraine has witnessed synthesis thriving—
Orcs in their glory, marching ahead.
Fear turns to ice in veins still surviving,
While iron foreheads shield the undead.
Bound into one, the madness and power,
Fused like a single unshakable hive.
Mines do not scare them—straight through they tower,
Leaping to paradise, thinking they’ll thrive.
---------------------
Brutes
Brutes—unyielding, vicious, cold,
Stuffed with lies that they uphold.
Crude and shallow, dull and base,
Mocking truth with shameless face.
Rotten minds, and blind in might,
Venomous to those with sight.
Evil’s stronghold, rough and raw—
Swamps where countless fools still crawl.
---------------------
Exit at Entry
"The exit is often where entry was made."
—Stanisław Jerzy Lec
Entry, exit.
Exit, door.
You won’t make it—
That’s for sure,
If your mind’s a scattered war.
--- Total 9 poems. ---
Hell never ends. Will death bring salvation,
Or will we wallow in filth once again?
Rot will consume every mind and each nation,
Branding the spirit with madness and stain.
"Freedom" will once more be stamped as submission,
Slavery masked as the will of the free.
Monsters obedient—newly commissioned—
Rising to rule in their vile tyranny.
Ruling in name, but in truth—merely puppets,
Guided by masters who lurk in the shade.
Cycles of ruin, descending in buckets,
Spanning through time as the future decays.
Nature will strike, yet the cycle keeps turning,
Round after round till the end of all days.
Beasts of corruption are still left there yearning—
Madness repeated—new law on display...
---------------------
German Submarine
Submarine. Heroes. Germans. War.
Yankees drop bombs—sink to the floor.
Heroes as well? Who’s keeping score?
Scoundrels on both sides—nothing more!
Fooled by the cause, they marched to fight,
Opening doors to endless night.
Madness was hailed as law and right,
Clung to delusions—lost from sight.
Demons will grant them steam and fire—
Blood-soaked baths at fate’s desire.
Tally the fallen—count the breath,
"Heroes" deceived and led to death.
---------------------
Thorough Slavery
"Those who would give up liberty to gain security deserve neither."
—Benjamin Franklin, 18th century
A Founding Father once spoke about freedom,
Yet built an empire—a fortress of chains.
No sign of liberty—none, if you seek them
Among the masses they proudly proclaim.
Laws on mere paper ensure their protection,
While chosen offenders stay high on the throne.
Through wars they inflict the worst devastation,
Outmatching villains long overthrown.
Worse than the crooks are the lawmen who guard them,
The so-called "Founders" of vile design.
Dragging the people to depths ever darker—
For all must be cattle, by Evil's assign.
---------------------
You Must Care
You must question, seek, and wonder,
Or you’ll rot in filth and shame—
Just another wretch who'd squander
All but greed and hollow fame.
Blind to evil, vice, and ruin,
Deaf to suffering and cries,
Lost in Hell, where lies are brewing—
Drunken fool with vacant eyes.
---------------------
Cunning Twist
A cunning trick, a wicked fate—
Grim Armageddon’s at the gate.
It’s almost here, yet fools stay blind,
Too dull to see the end in sight.
---------------------
The Final Countdown
The fools once were treated, but now there's no need—
They've grown into mobs, the majority breed.
The world's at its end—if not days, then in years,
The final countdown now rings in our ears.
The herds faced a test—yet they failed it in full,
The lesson is clear: time to cull every fool.
A worldwide camp they will build in its stead,
For Spirit is gone, and the mind left for dead.
And if the fool bows, staying quiet and mild,
Then straight to that camp he will march, reconciled.
---------------------
Success in Synthesis
Headfirst into walls—progress in motion,
That’s how we push through, no need for delay.
Raising a breed with blind-eyed devotion—
Fools with no conscience to stand in our way.
Foreheads of stone instead of perception—
That’s what the prophets of madness have taught.
Generations shaped by deception,
Schooled in the dogmas of nonsense and rot.
Nonsense alone is weak, just laughter,
Foreheads alone—just brittle bones.
Blend them together, and soon thereafter,
Hatred will conquer the world as its own.
Ukraine has witnessed synthesis thriving—
Orcs in their glory, marching ahead.
Fear turns to ice in veins still surviving,
While iron foreheads shield the undead.
Bound into one, the madness and power,
Fused like a single unshakable hive.
Mines do not scare them—straight through they tower,
Leaping to paradise, thinking they’ll thrive.
---------------------
Brutes
Brutes—unyielding, vicious, cold,
Stuffed with lies that they uphold.
Crude and shallow, dull and base,
Mocking truth with shameless face.
Rotten minds, and blind in might,
Venomous to those with sight.
Evil’s stronghold, rough and raw—
Swamps where countless fools still crawl.
---------------------
Exit at Entry
"The exit is often where entry was made."
—Stanisław Jerzy Lec
Entry, exit.
Exit, door.
You won’t make it—
That’s for sure,
If your mind’s a scattered war.
--- Total 9 poems. ---
