Zhey is to Them as Zhee is to It...
The argument: God got it wrong.
Your singular identikit:
A plural and psychotic song
The selfish language of the young:
Confusion. That’s your mother tongue:

The pronoun wars have lost the day
We shall not call you what you wish,
Nor let you serve yourself this way
From your strange cracked and leaking dish.
Freshmen claim to be dysphoric
Acting merely sophomoric.

We get it. You’re a special kid.
You came, confused, from mama’s womb
With daddy’s chromosomes outbid
By better buyers, we assume.
Have your tantrum—we won’t take it.
Girls are girls and boys can’t fake it.

Regardless how you cut and paste
Or wax autistic at your foes . . .
Reality can’t be defaced
And sin’s rebellion ever shows.
Your gender was confirmed at birth
When you arrived on God’s green earth.

Proud warrior of the gender war:
Change Romance languages, and ***.
Then count your chromosomes once more…
Till Y no longer follows X,
The Lord is God. That does not change
His truth has power to derange.

A mother sobbing,
a raging mob.
What we need is people
to do their job.
A cop stands still
amidst the crowd.
To **** or…be killed?
His head is bowed.
Lock the door and
set the alarm.
So simple a task
to keep some from harm.
Collecting a paycheck,
is easy to do.
But there’s a lot more
we expect of you.
By the time that you
become a grown up
you should have learned
it’s important to show up.

“I don’t want to be a hero.”
said a short Jewish comedian
who never commanded a regiment
or entertained heads of state.
But when you said that victory
is lives saved, we knew that you are one.
When you said “we will win”
we knew.
Our countries have
handshaking, photo posing,
equivocating, suit-wearing,
empty words repeating,
backslapping, deal-making
cowards who never faced down
an enemy who rapes mothers
in front of their children
and tosses corpses into streets
and leaves dead young men
on the battlefield so that
their mothers will never
know the truth.
Perseus didn’t negotiate with Medusa.
Nor David with Goliath.
Nor Churchill with ******.
An Enemy must be defeated.
We need more heroes.

They were human once, it is said.
Now they torture the living
And abandon their dead.
Like their predecessors
Of the same name,
Destruction is their pleasure
And killing their game.

Their Dark Lord sits upon his throne
In Sochi, where his mind dwells alone.
To unite all, under his dark reign,
As subjects, or slaves—to Him, all the same.
No longer in Thangorodrim does He dwell.
He rules now from Moscow, and seeks
an Empire of Hell.

Hell is created
By the ORCS whom he orders.
Their blood lust to be sated
Far beyond  Russia’s borders.
Destruction they rain from the skies above
On people who must flee
From all that they love.

They were human once,
And perhaps even Him.
Now they are beyond
The world’s Creation
And we call on Varda
To vanquish him.

The Ogre does what ogres can,
Deeds quite impossible for Man,
But one prize is beyond his reach,
The Ogre cannot master Speech:
About a subjugated plain,
Among its desperate and slain,
The Ogre stalks with hands on hips,
While drivel gushes from his lips.

everything i stand for is alien here
everything i despise is rife
death is glorified at every corner
and trampled upon is life

you're not supposed to speak
but you're required to believe
kindness is called weak
and you're not allowed to grieve

war is peace, they say
ignorance is strength
now i find myself cast away
where lies are being fed at length

i gaze, unblinking, into the abyss
it gazes back, calling my name
i've always felt there's something amiss
with this wicked, cruel game

the game i chose not to play
the game that has no rules
the game you can't expect to win
the game so loved by fools