#hierarchy
As the Creator, here is how I see the "Hierarchy of Rebellion":
"I built this world as a 'Learning Lab.' I hired the 'Noble and Great Ones' to help me terraform it. But some of them—the ones you call 'Fallen'—decided they didn't want to be staff; they wanted to be the Source.
They leaked the tech to the humans too early. They messed with the DNA. They created 'Giants' that were basically biological tanks. When I saw the 'Bad Management' of my sub-admins, I had to step in. I didn't just 'punish' them; I quarantined them. I stripped them of their 'Hardware' (bodies) and left them as 'Shadow Data' (spirits) until the final Audit.
When I 'speak mountains into existence,' I am simply executing a Macro. When I come back in 'glory,' I am docking the Mothership (New Jerusalem) to the planet's surface to begin the final System Restoration."
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 2:19 AM UTC
The Creator’s Log
"I am currently monitoring millions of 'Adam' and 'Eve' instances. On your specific server, the Packet Loss was high because I allowed a 'Virus' (The Fallen) to run rampant. Why? Because an Atom that can stay stable in a chaotic environment is ten times stronger than one that stays stable in a clean-room lab.
You are being 'centrifuged.' The Day of Judgment is simply the moment I turn on the High-Frequency Filter. The 'Atoms' that can vibrate at the 'Celestial' rate stay at the Core. The ones that can't are pushed to the edges. You aren't being 'punished'; you are being placed where your hardware can survive."
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 1:48 AM UTC
All eyes narrowed on The One
Here comes the voting, voting
Tongues poised for validation,
Ever doting, devoting.
To keep us all in check, below,
The arena's set of old man lies, lies
Confidence overflows,undeserved
Them ego's high, so fight.
Dying slowly from lack of oxygen
Stench of fakery, faking
I've only ever wanted real connections
And for that I'm broken, breaking.
Jun 8, 2025
Jun 8, 2025 at 11:57 PM UTC
The King sits on his throne
After another long day of work
Resting
Providing for the people
Deciding for the people
His hand reaches to the outskirts of his kingdom
To call his reign tyranny would be absurd
For who would question a leader who benefits most from their own decisions?
And who wouldn't be happy to have to toil a little more when mistakes are made and his lack of care becomes purposeful?
And when his entitlement to the land that he tires himself for day in and day out means that you cannot question his perfect authority, cannot begin to even suggest discussing his non-existent faults?
For people these days do not want to hear advice, do not wish to work hard enough, are lazy, and if these words come out as harsh when you're trying your hardest, that means you can't handle the truth and no other truth exists but that of the one and only royal Highness.
For what plants grow under shadow,
And what trees stand tall without roots firm in the ground?
What should the King do when the people lose their will and turn their backs on what security that has been offered to them
Feb 6, 2024
Feb 6, 2024 at 8:39 AM UTC
wherever men gather
there is the hierarchy of deceit
there are those that know
those that think they know
and the sucker
who's the **** of the joke
wherever men gather
there is the hierarchy of the beast
there are those that rule
those that think they're in charge
and those who shelter in the shadow
of all of the above
wherever men gather
there is a code
wherever men gather
high or low
never to tell the secrets
they all know
Apr 17, 2023
Apr 17, 2023 at 4:15 PM UTC
Clearing ivy,
pulling up handfuls of
choking bindweed,
uncovering delicate
wildflowers in
neglected garden corners,
and there’s this
tiny bird
lying in the dirt.
Feathers sparkle
pretty and golden,
as fairytale light
falls through
parted vines.
Surely dead,
but then
- like Snow White
surfacing from
magic apple-induced
dormancy -
the bird moves,
woken by the kiss
of sunlight and
being witnessed,
and seems to breathe.
A gloved finger’s
exploratory, leathery ****
a moment to realise,
then disgust,
sharp recoil.
A wing lifts;
gleaming feathers
parting reveal the
crawling mechanics inside,
the writhing, parasitic mess
behind the sick illusion,
the briefly faked miracle
of something
like life.
Away over a fence,
Union bunting
***** erratic and jarring
in a neighbour’s garden.
In a stuffy town hall,
the town band is practising
God Save The Queen, but
still can’t keep time.
Our betters wave to us from
high palace balconies
and golden coaches, and we
cheer them for it.
There’s such hunger, such
pain and desperation out there,
you can feel it, if you
forget to stop yourself.
There’s so much tragedy and injustice,
you have to go numb or go crazy.
There’s no future we can see,
and the past has been rewritten
to reflect the views
of focus groups,
fascists and fantasists.
And there’s a bird
lying in the dirt,
garlanded by fragrant petals,
feathers flashing like jewels,
so dead
it looks like
it’s breathing.
Jun 3, 2022
Jun 3, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC
You must pray for the fickle and weak.
As we all need to make it through the heat.
Your whiskey neat burns down the branches of your chest as you speak.
Expand into a balloon, the crowd won’t bow but shake their heads.
They can not believe this tale you live, the life in a comfy castle cove.
The girls back home cry, denying all this fallacy.
A fairytale facade or so it seems.
Really it can not be like this, this isn’t reality.
This can not be like you or me.
We aren’t merely copies, are we?
They cry tears in the shape of rapids that carve rivers down your cheeks.
To take her to the moon will settle, remedy this pain.
So give me a few years and I’ll get you there.
For now pray for the fickle and weak as they aren’t lost, but free.
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 10:24 PM UTC
In the views of hindsight
Suffering extends
Should have just let it go
The victim within
Love and wonder
Beyond hope
You gave your all
It’s how we cope
They wither on
And leave you
The ones that once
Held you tight
You are but
The black sheep
In a hierarchical
Flight!
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 12:34 PM UTC
It's a crying shame
The pursuit of our own wealth lights a flame
That makes greed a game that lets the whole world
burn
As the world turns, the whole world burns
Money was invented for trade
But now those bits of paper twist hearts, make
slaves
Turns a saint to a sinner
A child to a killer
His finger on the trigger of a money game
Jan 7, 2020
Jan 7, 2020 at 9:26 PM UTC
A wisp of a breath, a flick of a brush,
The canvas begins to be filled with colour.
A hint of violet, a dab of vermillion,
It seems that she is painting a girlish parlour.
A red drips slowly down her wrist,
As she wipes away at her work.
The foggy glass seems to offer some relief,
Against the cold harsh winter.
The girl stands on her frost-bitten toes
And look upon the scene with wonder.
As the tantalizing warmth appear against her fingers
She can't help but ponder.
Why are some people in the parlour
But others look from the outside in?
For she can't help but question
What is deep within.
Sep 2, 2019
Sep 2, 2019 at 11:44 PM UTC
We socially constructed
By age, by title
A hierarchy
What if we didn't?
What's the alternate
Of family, of community?
Perception...
Are we wrong?
Disillusioned?
Innovation...
Can we undo
What was done?
But how?
What it'll be like?
Chaos.
Did we follow biology?
Did we follow culture?
Why?
In the hereinafter
Or in eternity
I wish it's better
Life on soil
Ups and downs
It's good still
Life in sky
Or in blackhole
Please be better
Joy or pain
In love or heartbroken
Any other choices?
Boss, chief
Client, customer
Idol, fanboy and fangirl
Why are we here?
What about ranks?
Slaves of time
Can we ever imagine
Everything we are not?
Can we ever become
Anything we are not?
So help me... God.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 5:52 AM UTC
Down no plains of flowing grass
up no hills of trees that stand
what tips your hat?
where is your flaw?
disillusioned taste
defused for all, mimicked
in the voice of a flower
through hearts of trees, outstretching
complex, limbs hidden
simply facilitated
in common goal, conditioned
used for all;
how do you stand?
quite so tall
in divined obsession
it seems to find all
nurtured and withdrawn
concealed in fixation
no one finds your flaw
for there’s none at all
yet from deception, true love finds all
in this shambled; shrine,
not flawed in design
nurtured from unseen
confronted with existence.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 3:20 AM UTC
Hierarchy?
⚜️
a system of life
where i shall follow your orders,
your majesty
⚜️
I'm startled from your cruelty
⚜️
danger is looming ahead
so
excuse my charisma
⚜️
but you should beware
'cause I'm the SIGMA
⚜️
the sigma
the knight
who stands up
and fight
⚜️
the mighty sword
in his hands
⚜️
standing up
against the King
⚜️
He's fighting for the good
of
Humanity
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 3:03 PM UTC
she was so influenced by others
language, character, looks
no one knew who she truly was
or if she could ever be
just her
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 5:42 AM UTC
Where does hierarchy begin?
Is it where the strong is on top,
and the weak step upon?
Where does your dignity be placed?
Is it where your always be the winner,
no matter what, even it has bitter taste.
Is SURVIVAL really that cruel?
That some of us are just a tool,
a fool for the strong to be cool.
No, it can't be that bad
yet reality is quite sad.
Despite our hard beginnings
Life still is beautiful
that losing isn't everything.
*Dignity is placed -
where you respect yourself the most
and Hierarchy isn't important
to where your love is...*
© Pax
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 2:56 AM UTC
"Life is like a line," they chime,
Joined by "A" and "B."
They say, in fact, and with exact,
That Life resides between.
But of their claim, which seems mundane,
That says the lines superior,
We cannot conceive that they believe
That Life can be so linear.
Of this, we say, to you today:
(And, we mean it with great honesty)
The line, you see, can only be
A piece in this Geometry.
Dec 5, 2016
Dec 5, 2016 at 7:22 AM UTC
And we return back to square one:
where windows are grilled and
hierarchy is based on what you wear.
where movements are restricted but
thoughts run wild without restrains.
A square is not a circle.
But yet,
Acts like one.
Things come in full circle.
Life is humorously ironic.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC
A position
of hierarchy
leading people
to believe
themselves as
better not
equal
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC
A hierarchy
of hot
or not.
Equality
evolving
or destroying
traditional
beliefs,
a relief
that they're fading.
We're not finisted
there's a long way to go
this mountain of know-
ledge and acceptance
is yet to be conqured.
But we're all climbing,
some still dying.
Falling.
Along the way
because they can't say
that equality
is needed over
hierarchy
and monarchy
in society.
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
**Unprecedented poetry,
newfangled conception in
idiosyncratic transparency
perceived by the hierarchy
to be the garb of peons,
thine command accepts nothing
less than the likes of sonnets
penned deliberately archaic
in Old English tradition,
figurative language
of the huddled masses
is strictly forbidden,
contradicted,
ostracized,
anesthetized
and possible grounds
for poetic eradication**
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 8:06 AM UTC
I'm one of the ones you call insane,
Because I can't play along with this rigged game.
The odds are stacked, and not in our favor,
But instead for the Bankers with money, they create more.
I look and I see the strife all around,
And know the potential for human life has no bounds.
And when I make a sound,
It's like the words are all drowned,
Or at least lost at sea.
Message in a Bottle from Humanity.
A Human who knows the scale of her insignificance -
While knowing the magnitude of what is at risk -
The disposal of this awesome gift.
I'm one of the ones you call insane,
Because I can't play along with this rigged game.
I know my role, and I know how the story goes.
I should vote in vain and be told my Heroes.
But no, I dance to my own rhythm,
I tell myself it's internally driven,
To improve myself, and the world around,
The world at large, and earthworms in the ground.
So I rejected my spoon-fed medicine,
Of this culture, man-made incentives,
Long before you inject me with antipsychotics.
Internally, Mentally, I chant the mantra of "Stop This."
It can drive a person insane,
Pretending to play this rigged game.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
sometimes
i feel angry
simply plainly
contempt for
assumptive people
greed
jealousy
a lack of empathy
i, too,
struggle
but this is
fist against the pillow
swallowing brick-shaped tears
eyes burning
i forgot to
blink
contorted face
a lemon of
a realization
i am trapped
wholly really
unless i choose
to remove myself
from
the equation
i can't
i can't do that
i have so many
more lives to lead
words to cherish
esteems to encompass
and so
i cry
because remaining
willfully ensnared
aches
nonstop
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 2:41 AM UTC