Grandpa Frost or Devil’s Scheme?

Grandpa Frost is no fool, listen—
He's the devil in disguise.
You won’t sense a real mission—
Just a beard and kind old eyes.

Gifts he brings to keep you merry,
That’s the trick he plays so well.
NEW YEAR comes—but times don’t vary,
Same old game, the same old spell.

Chains of slavery won’t shatter,
They’ll just get a fresh design,
Spiced with filth—the devil’s pattern,
Mastermind of all that’s vile.



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Witch Hunt: Then and Now

If it’s strange—must be "infection".
Once they called it "evil's breath."
Both are means of mind’s subjection,
Ruled by fiends who deal in death.

Witches burned—today they drug us,
Same old story, same old fate.
Fools they were, but now among us
Live the brutes who breed blind hate.

Three in four—like sheep they follow,
Drowning deep in filth and lies.
Doctors now play gods so hollow,
Satan laughs and rolls the dice...



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Changes in Total Slavery

Chains are changing—same old story:
Trade for dust, then rot in glory.
Now they build a sterile cage,
Digital, to rule the age.

Chip implanted—no possession,
Every move under suppression.
Crowds don’t think, they kneel and bend,
Worship filth until the end.

Brains are outlawed—"AI"’s preaching,
Guiding swine with soulless teaching.



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Big Apple

“Friends” — the show we know so well,
Where wage slaves in cages dwell.
Cramped apartments, lives confined,
Yet their fate seems unmaligned.

Flirt and chatter, ***** and laughter,
Fill their nights, but what comes after?
Worn-out paths, the spirit’s numb,
Trapped in loops that leave them dumb.

In the “center of creation,”
Apple’s name—a proud ovation.
Yet it’s bleak, so dull, so hollow—
Trudging slaves with nights so shallow...



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Changes in a Nonsensical World

Absurdity—a fortress tall,
No way to break, just skirt the wall.
Yet Stupidity breaks through,
To build a new one—stronger too.

Where Rudeness binds like solid glue,
And mass dumbdown comes into view.
Inside those walls, the fools will cheer,
As ruin draws forever near.

No waiting long—the purge is set,
The filth has shown the endgame yet.



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"Stability Is a Mark of Skill"

They praise stability—so wise,
Yet nature thrives in waves that rise.
For waves won’t fit in rigid lines,
And "life" resists their forced confines.

No cycle flows the same as past,
No chart can hold a surge so vast.
Thus, talent seems a foolish sight
Among dull faces, locked in night.



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Cave People

The grind of boredom beats "belief,"
For near the cave, built on deceit,
Rise the temples, false yet grand,
Preaching chains to rule the land.



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"Bright Horizon"

Twisted faces, cold and grim—
Drunken butchers, soaked in sin.
After torture, after lead,
Marching where the fools are led.

Step by step, they guide the blind,
Slaughter’s fate already signed.



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The Oldest Profession

A cave-age cop came long before
The ******* of fabled lore.
Yet lies persist, they twist the past—
Deceit for fools, spun deep and vast.



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Futile Toil

Toil grinds the mind to dust,
Paves the road for fools to trust.
Bricks of hell they proudly lay,
Calling it a brighter day.

Oh, how well the fiends deceive—
Lies so grand, the fools believe!



--- Total 10 poems. ---