Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.

Hope-**** is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.

Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.

Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.

You've killed us with sword, and you've killed us with bow

Killed us by dropping us down far below

You take our remains and use them for crafting,

Now, Minecrafter, we have questions for asking.

Which of us 'mobs' do you the most fear?

Who makes you shake when our name you do hear?

Answer us, Notch-Child, answer us well

Your innermost fears to us you shall tell.

Is the Creeper, the camouflaged one

That scares you the most (Even in the Sun)?

For whenever he sees you, he flashes in white,

And will, lest vanquished, explode in the night?

Maybe the Zombie, who travels in hordes,

Attacking Testificates, breaking down doors?

When the terrible moan comes forth from his throat,

Do you despair, do you lose all hope?

Perhaps a Skeleton, wielding his bow,

Is he – do you think – the most terrible foe?

The ****** that sees you, wherever you are,

Draws back his weapon and kills from afar?

Could it be a Spider, eyes glowing red,

That climbs up the walls, does he fill you with dread?

Perchance it's his brother, down in the mines,

With poisonous fangs he waits, biding his time?

Perchance the Silverfish, hiding in rock,

That swarm and attack should you break down its block?

Is it them you fear whilst exploring the caves

Faced with them, can you call yourself brave?

Or the Slime, living far underground

That scares you away with its odd shape and sound?

The small ones can't hurt you, that much is true,

But the largest ones bring harm swiftly to you.

You've crafted a portal, and think yourself clever,

But can you withstand our dear friends in the Nether?

They dwell in a land full of lava and fire

Do you fear the ones in the burning mire?

The Zombie Pigman, needing no explanation,

They protect one another, an undead nation.

Are they the ones that you find most frightening?

And appear in Overworld when a pig's struck by lightning?

Is it the Ghast, silver tear in its eye,

That scares you away and makes you cry?

It really is best not to get in one's way

If one shot at you, would you run from the fray?

What of the Blaze, whose body burns bright,

Guardian of fortresses, that sets you alight?

Maybe it's they who send you running to

Your home where you dream of the water deep blue.

We're nearing the End of our little game,

Our question, however, is always the same.

Are you scared of the 'mobs' in the land full of void?

Or maybe, perhaps, you're just vaguely annoyed?

Fear you the Enderman, standing so tall

Him do you fear, the most of all?

Look not to his eyes or he'll teleport near you

And **** unless you swim in water clear and blue.

Or the Dragon, whom to leave the End you must fight,

That heals himself with pillars of light?

He flies through the air, majestic and black,

But face him you must, for there's no turning back.

You've killed us with lava, killed us by drowning,

But now whom the most fearful one are you crowning?

You've killed us, even, with your bare fists.

For now, questions answered, we retreat to the mists.



Which mob do YOU fear?

So here, twisted in steel, and spoiled with red
your sunlight hide, smelling of death and fear,
they crushed out your throat the terrible song
you sang in the dark ranges. With what crying
you mourned him! - the drinker of blood, the swift death-bringer
who ran with you so many a night; and the night was long.
I heard you, desperate poet, Did you hear
my silent voice take up the cry? - replying:
Achilles is overcome, and Hector dead,
and clay stops many a warrior's mouth, wild singer.

Voice from the hills and the river drunken with rain,
for your lament the long night was too brief.
Hurling your woes at the moon, that old cleaned bone,
till the white shorn mobs of stars on the hill of the sky
huddled and trembled, you tolled him, the rebel one.
Insane Andromache, pacing your towers alone,
death ends the verse you chanted; here you lie.
The lover, the maker of elegies is slain,
and veiled with blood her body's stealthy sun.

" In the sea of desks
There is talk of bags and games
And long pipes that leak dreams with   a strike of a match

And there's a loudness to the whispers I hear
Whispears shouldn't be that loud, should they?

There's a girl over there who everyone knows
And men without ears who will stand by the door for a price

And long hallways; there are angry mobs of dwarves
and rats
and one single angel.      "

i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
afraid to peep inside
of who it might be
staring back
into my hazel eyes
could my innocent youth be harsh-fully swept away
if it was my mother whose eyes id have to face?

i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
where my ears start to ring with echoes of heavy sobs that soon shred into weeps
whose funeral might this be?
was it possible that my late night bawling to god, to place that husband of hers under the rug, had finally been done?

i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
when my mind immediately hits the ***
might this be the ceremony
to sendoff ,the person with whom i shared my soul?
might the bag of deceased bones
belong to the person
death was too afraid to take,
because of the ecstasy we both did generate?
would this ceremony actually be, my worst nightmare to come true?  

i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
i am suddenly held hostage inside my own brain, forced to see all the nights id been swept away,
under the wings of insomnia
where id been dipped into a deception
making the sky seem like perfect company, in a romantic way
and the moon my dearest friend, in the best of ways

i am standing beside a hole where a soulless body lays
im fed up of being at this ceremony
i now want to leave
the place however
starts to fill with mobs
and never ending sobs
i see my parents greeting guests
and i see my best friend trying hardest to not break
for gods sake whose loss is being grieved in this hollow place
i stumble as i walk upon the open grave
filled with angry puzzles to piece
tears of all these eyes are by now enough, to create an ocean inside this place
an ocean however that i can not cleanse myself in to be saved

i am standing beside a hole where my soulless body lays
and soon i start to realize
ive been a tourist in my own grave

Rainy day people and frogs
Packed New York streets, mossy bogs
Umbrella or bumbershoot
In quagmire and crowded route
Splashing masses, polliwogs

Precipitation, cascade
The alley or everglade
Plebeians and ***** toads
Wetlands, winding back roads
Holding brolly or sunshade

Mobs, croaker in the wallow
Soggy marsh, bypass below
A sprinkle, pitter-patter
Parasol, doesn't matter
Your bullfrog and average Joe

What failures
oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen
of living and thriving as a minority foreigner
of working and studying to post-grad levels
of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent
of loving and marrying and creating a good home
of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player
of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft
of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder
what failures
the failure of being successful and capable in grace
the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled
the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves
the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs
the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed
the failure of being an educated professional black
the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man
the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by
Ladies and Gentlemen
these are my failures
Its all there in black and white
its the failure of being a minority
In the british democracy of the Socialists
for it is greed to work hard and be successful
its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white
neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief
And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change
you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated
harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to
suicide or a breakdown
They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures
They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks