They were words
cut in places some speak of the shallows mostly deep very dark
she turned a corner
uncharacteristically
away from the gallows
say the HELPER!!!
thankfully not the Coroner.

Freedom from rhyme, to hell with the beat,
Forgetting the meaning, the soul's in deceit.
Deceived by the crowd, now a slave to it all,
The Lyre abandoned, few poets stand tall.
A world of hack writers — fools' joy, they will thrive.
"What’s Sense for sheeps?" — to serve Vile and contrive.
And for distraction, petty verse is the deal.
A world in decay, where Reason grows still.


In Russian:

Упадок поэзии

Свобода от рифмы
И к чёрту все ритмы,
Забвение смысла —
Душа в эго влипла,

Толпою обманута.
Рабынею стала.
Так Лира покинута —
Пиитов уж мало:

Мирок графоманов —
Дебилам услада.
— В чём смысл для баранов?
— Служение гадам.

И для отвлеченья
Ничтожные вирши.
Мирок РАЗЛОЖЕНЬЯ —
В нём Разум всё тише.

Give it free,
Without accountability.
29/12/2024

I am amazed more
and more
how much the mind can be stuck
in slavery
to thoughts.

I am less afraid of people
who commit suicide.
Suffering is so intense.
It makes me think of how
low our minds can take us
down to where
we feel we
might drown.  

No one, not one person
is to blame for
suicide.
There should be no anger,
no shame.
Be real in life.
Do not shelter shame
as if it is a friend,
a payback,
or a way of life.

Shame is as deep as
******
is the devil.
Deep in an inkwell
Black tar stuck in
the pits searching
for free skies
for air
the soul is not for sell.

And it can come to this.....

Dead Enders

Places we have been to
Places we compare to
Travel light-years
In circles around us
Overtime
Around and around we go
Spiraling through the
self-disparaging
Thoughts we hack ourselves into.

Until,  Sense-less
Dead enders.
So, unthread,
Un  thread,
Un      thread.
Unwind
Before your prospects
Leave this space.

Around and around
we go
Transcenders
Looking out, looking up
and
Down
Sinking
Please me here
Take from there
Give to him always
Without a dare
Sunk and done
Dead end right here.

With each step I take,
I am closer to the dark light.
Each heartbeat leads me
to the finality.

Conceived without pain,
I am trying to find the lost moment.
Your naked hands roam freely
over my frail body -
hatred is what
the smallest ones desire.

Painfully cursed, today
I end this wicked journey
for something that no one knows.
I have become lost
to the world.

My condescending tears
are too ridiculous to be of any use.
Your spasmodic whisper
tries to tame the night
that consistently plays with the light,
that asks for
a scrap of its own sadness.

Intoxicated with hope,
sold at a bargain price -
I try to overcome life in myself,
to find pain that will teach me
to yearn so that everyone
will envy me.

Please tell me, is it worth appreciating
the silence
that will eventually replace
you and your crimson breath?

Cured of my iconoclastic longing,
I am falling apart
like a house of cards
built by your whisper.

I am trying to free myself
from last year's sky, but I know
that you are still guarding
my soul.

Locked in my own shadow,
I raise a toast to a happier world.
When the last bell
falls silent, I will renounce
my freedom, I will forget
about loneliness.

An hour will be born
in me that knows neither light
nor penance.
Perhaps one morning
I will understand that victory
is not dedicated to me.

I will open my mouth,
close the window.
I am not afraid of tomorrow's
illusions, of another painless evening.