#tyranny
obsession is just a word
for a seducer's demise
the love for the prohibited
is too tempting not to try
electricity on my vein,
the gaze upon his eyes
makes a rebel wanna bite,
in a show,
to feel alive
burn in hell, God!
to serve is a sin
i shall deny
since thy perish
the unforgiving
and burn them alive
so sorry for my party,
but how can you be divine?
if your existence was made
for mortal sanity to strive?
if i've been on an act for all my life
will my memory be shattered?
will I cry laughing at His pride?
for this is the mocker of the sinners,
the laughter box of their lives
death is near, but I’ll keep going
always known of all my lines
Oct 21, 2024
Oct 21, 2024 at 11:14 AM UTC
What am I to you?
A name to be buried, a story rewritten,
a mistake to be crossed out?
But I am more than ink.
I am flesh, and bone, and breath.
I love. I hurt. I burn with life.
My blood---red, thick, real---
the same as yours.
The same, yet somehow, to you,
it matters less.
And if it spills, let it not be in silence.
Let it mark the ground with defiance,
let it scream against the weight of oppression.
For if my blood, the same as yours, soaks the earth,
who is to say yours will not follow?
You who watch, who stay silent,
do you think silence will save you?
Tyranny has no favorites.
It consumes, and it does not stop.
Not until it is made to.
Deny its hold.
Defend what is yours.
Depose the ones who think they own you.
Or wait your turn.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 5:56 PM UTC
Imagine a man sat upon a throne.
Inflated, his ego would roam
the streets, claiming heat from the palms of the poor souls,
hands filled with deceit and greed, seizing the means of living,
watching the poor grovel at his feet and lick the sole of his heel
for a couple pennies to trickle down.
And the people around him would still represent him and boast:
What does a man like this fear the most?
A bubble growing large, needs one needle of truth
for all of its power to blow the lid wide open,
to reveal the ruse that has covered the eyes of the poor.
And the man knew this would be truly the end of his rule.
If the ripples of dissent escalated into waves,
it would flood him and everything he’s ever made,
so he makes a decision
to flood the news with so much misinformation
that any truth exposed against him would be seen
with so much scrutiny that he would carry on his blasphemy
and still be seen as God’s man on a mission.
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 8:35 AM UTC
I am not a rule breaker, of sorts,
And I’m not an activist as such,
But today,
I walked for freedom —
Against control, and
Against the system.
As I walked
I reflected on my silent protest;
Silent refusal,
Silent non-compliance,
Silent activism —
Today, I walked for life,
And life to the full!
Oct 24, 2025
Oct 24, 2025 at 3:02 PM UTC
If I stop dreaming
It fully wakes the beast
Teho Teardo & Blixa Bargeld
a collapsed time, its recurring pulse
spews me in and out of my mold
everything exists all at once
everyday,
probable and frozen states,
this configuration of atoms.
terror owned my muscles
cruelty assaulted my mind
I was breathing only in dreams
fused and confused,
receptacle for an anarchic pain.
I was living the secret life of moths
encapsulated in strangled words
I am writing:
this is the shape of a heart
no denial.
a tyranny of silence
is an impossible exile.
oh, I have to remember
the fortitude of silence
when I'm shouting,
when the tyrant is I
Apr 22, 2025
Apr 22, 2025 at 2:17 PM UTC
I seek to see the equality
While suppressing voices.
I seek equity
To further destroy all equality.
You think we are the same?
No! I’m superior.
I’m a God. Woe is Me!!
I’m a Karen? No there.
I complain, I never care!
You see my darkness?
I’m simply suppressed.
You see I’m right? They agree!
You see, the many can outnumber thee!
I shall conquer your plea!
I shall cancel your decree!
I’m fake democracy,
I’m tyranny!
It’s simply untrue!
I’m mad?
I get paid for I!
Nothing, For free!
Media pi-ons I crave,
Lobbyists pave.
My religion;
My followers;
My faith;
Madness.
Apr 14, 2025
Apr 14, 2025 at 8:13 AM UTC
O People,
I have become your Sultan,
Break your idols after your misguidance,
And worship me...
I do not reveal myself always,
So sit upon the pavement of patience
Until you can behold me.
Leave your children without bread,
Abandon your women without husbands,
And follow me…
Praise God for His grace,
For He has sent me to write history,
And history cannot be written without me.
I am Joseph in beauty,
No golden hair like mine has God ever created,
No prophetic forehead like mine,
My eyes...
A forest of olive and almond trees,
So pray always that God may protect my eyes.
O People,
I am Majnun Layla,
So send me your wives to bear my seed,
And send your husbands to give me thanks.
It is an honor to eat the wheat of my flesh,
An honor to pluck my almonds and figs,
An honor to resemble me…
For I am an event unseen
For thousands of years.
O People,
I am the first, the most just, the most beautiful,
Among all rulers.
I am the full moon of darkness, the whiteness of jasmine,
I am the first inventor of the gallows,
And the best of the messengers.
Whenever I think of leaving power,
My conscience forbids me…
Who, then, shall rule after me these kind souls?
Who shall heal the lame, the leprous, the blind after me?
Who shall bring life to the bones of the dead?
Who shall draw the moonlight from his cloak?
Who shall send down the rain upon the people?
Who, tell me,
Will flog them ninety lashes?
Who, tell me,
Will crucify them upon the trees?
Who, tell me,
Will force them to live like cattle?
And die like cattle?
Whenever I think of leaving them,
My tears flow like a cloud,
And I put my trust in God…
And decide to ride upon the people
From now until the Day of Judgment.
O People,
I own you
Just as I own my horses and my slaves.
I walk upon you
As I walk upon the carpet of my palace.
So bow to me when I rise,
And bow to me when I sit.
Did I not find you one day
Between the pages of my ancestors?
Beware of reading any book,
For I read on your behalf.
Beware of writing any speech,
For I write on your behalf.
Beware of listening to Fairuz in secret,
For I know your intentions well.
Beware of reciting poetry before me,
For it is a cursed devil.
Beware of entering the grave without my permission,
For that is a great sin among us.
And keep silent when I speak,
For my words are a sacred Quran…
O People,
I am your Mahdi, so await me!
And my blood pulses in the heart of the vines,
So drink me.
Stop all the hymns that children sing
In love of the homeland,
For I have become the homeland...
I am the One, the Eternal,
Among all creatures.
I am stored in the memory of apples,
The flute, and the blue melodies.
Raise my portraits above the squares,
Cover me with clouds of words,
And marry me the youngest of brides…
For I do not age.
My body does not age,
My prisons do not age,
And the instruments of oppression in my kingdom do not age.
O People,
I am Al-Hajjaj; if I remove my mask, you will know me.
And I am Genghis Khan,
I have come to you with my spears, my dogs, and my prisons.
Do not resent my tyranny,
For I **** so that you do not **** me.
I hang so that you do not hang me.
I bury you in mass graves,
So that you do not bury me.
O People,
Buy me newspapers to write about me,
For they are displayed in the streets like prostitutes.
Buy me green, polished paper like the grasses of spring,
Ink, and printing presses.
Everything in our time is for sale,
Even fingers.
Buy me the fruit of thought,
And place it before me.
Cook me a poet,
And serve him among my dishes.
I am illiterate,
And I have a phobia of what poets say.
So buy me poets who sing my beauty,
And make me the star of all covers,
For dancers and actors
Are never more beautiful than I am.
Buy me all that cannot be bought
On this earth or in the sky.
Buy me
A forest of honey,
And a pound of women.
For with hard currency,
I purchase what I desire.
I buy Bashar ibn Burd’s poetry,
Al-Mutanabbi’s lips,
And Labid’s odes…
For the millions in the House of Muslims’ Wealth
Are an ancient inheritance of my father,
So take from my gold
And write in the great books
That my era…
Is the era of Harun al-Rashid…
O Masses of my land,
O masses of Arab nations,
I am a pure soul sent to cleanse you
Of the dust of ignorance.
Record my voice on tapes…
For my voice flows like a green fountain,
Like Andalusian melodies.
Capture me, smiling like the Mona Lisa,
Gentle as the face of Magdalene.
Capture me,
With my dignity, my grandeur,
And my military staff.
Capture me
As I sever the people’s necks like apples,
Capture me
As I hunt a deer or a gazelle.
Capture me
As I tear poetry apart with my teeth,
As I drink the blood of the alphabet.
Capture me
As I carry you upon my shoulders to the eternal abode!
O Masses of my land,
O masses of Arab nations,
O People,
I am responsible for your dreams, when you dream,
I am responsible for every loaf you eat,
And for the poetry
You read behind my back.
For the security apparatus in my palace
Informs me of the birds’ whispers,
And the secrets of the ears of wheat,
And of what happens inside the wombs of pregnant women.
O People,
I am your jailer, and I am your prisoner,
So forgive me.
I am the exiled one, within my own palace,
I see no sun, no stars, no flowers of oleander,
Since I came to power as a child,
And the circus men gather around me—
One blows a flute,
One beats a drum,
One polishes my boots,
One kisses my hands…
Since I came to power as a child,
No advisor has ever told me "No,"
No minister has ever dared to say "No,"
No ambassador has ever stood against me.
They have taught me to see myself as a god,
And to see the people, from my balcony, as dust.
So forgive me…
If I have turned into a new Hulagu,
I have never killed for the sake of killing,
I **** only to entertain myself.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 7:10 PM UTC
A tinpot tyrant built a tower tall,
clad in gold and granite and all.
This motte and bailey mocked the skies,
mocked the peasants who’d helped him rise.
Reflected in wide moat’s black waters
he saw a king or khan — not the paupers —
and ruled his lands to rack and ruin
until he faced his own perdition.
The tyrant’s chiseled name fades away
dissolving with each rainy day.
All that’s left of this despot’s schemes:
the wreck of his peeling gold leaf dreams,
this tower the barest token of his trying will
upon that lonely bald abandoned hill.
Now none remember the tyrant‘s name
whose broken tower was built for fame.
Feb 5, 2025
Feb 5, 2025 at 7:08 PM UTC
A Berlin monastic church of blood
shed by true witnesses to freedom’s love:
These few who stood against the flood
of hate from tyrants they rebuffed.
Not far from here, these martyrs were killed
for facing down the brownshirts’ might,
in hopes that all would someday be filled
with the will to live for love’s delight.
Here Mary sits with her holy child,
carved of warm wood, set on cold stone.
She bears an expression, calm and mild,
with nothing around them: alone.
Her robes are daubed in palest blue
while her hair with a golden crown is wed;
her baby son wears redder hues
that foreshadow blood he and his martyrs shed.
This blessèd Mary’s calm defies the fear
decreed by despots in past and present years —
Softly, she whispers her granite will: Defy
all tyranny ’til hate’s tides subside.
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC
I had dreamed of gentle hills who cloaked themselves
in emerald green, swathed in capes of moss
and bejeweled by Time with tumbled stone.
Sitting in a high window looking east,
Over damascene forests crowding,
I saw the waves hurl themselves on rocky shores
where hopeful pilgrims and adventurers
once landed, timorous at first
their linear minds and loud weapons braced
for battle with those who watched
from under shade of guarded forest.
I knew their history now, how they grew bold
and mowed down the ancients, wrecking paradise
until, for a time, it resembled the land they'd fled.
Decades rolled past with the confidence of the victor,
his rewriting of progress and the careless tramping
of feet, horses and railroads over human souls.
At last, what was forged by the invaders
became brief peace and prosperity for a time,
but descended into dictators and their subjects,
and people were mesmerized by moving pictures,
their brains turned to porridge with radio waves.
lulled by sweet, starry-eyed promises from the rich.
The chance of revolution has weakened
to the point of desperation.
La resistance lies in shadow, like a lion crouching
waiting for people to awaken, for the **** that frees.
Dec 11, 2024
Dec 11, 2024 at 6:12 PM UTC
The tyrant built his tower tall,
set straight to work a-cutting through
the golden threads that join us all
to hoard them in his mental zoo.
Its bricks were baked of stolen clay
in his kleptocratic kilns’ cracked moulds.
Their stench of sulfurous yellow stays
as mockery of our cords of gold.
He covets the gleaming ties we share
to gild the cavern in his tower.
The pit that’s fed with his charm’s snares
cannot be sated with this gold of ours.
His true name is as it ever stayed,
be it Xerxes, or Julius, or Wilhelm, or Don,
this ******* hybrid of hubris and hate,
who feeds on sycophantic fawns.
But despots have their own red thread,
a truth of iron wrought long before:
Each one will end encased in lead,
entombed beneath time’s deepening ****
The tower topples, his memory fades.
He takes his place with Hades’ shades.
Nov 12, 2024
Nov 12, 2024 at 9:20 AM UTC
Candle, candle, burning bright
in this vast and dusky church tonight.
In its shimmering light I see
few fellow faithful kneel near to me.
Our chant is soft and barely heard
above this fallen world’s absurd
descent into a tyrant’s wrath.
Like those before, await his aftermath.
Therefore we must keep this flame alive
so that hope and charity still survive
‘til the fickle follies of sundown times
end again and new dawn shines.
Nov 10, 2024
Nov 10, 2024 at 11:02 AM UTC
To crucify yourself
The universe behold
Dreams upon the shelf
Loose papers unfold
To commit arson on babel
When the gods won’t knock it down
The desire only to travel,
Where companies tyranny can’t be found
To escape the noise, however brief
The surreptitious feeling of a thief
The streams, the rocks, the trees —
these moments you steal
Sequestered, in solitude, at ease
These moments are real..
These moments are real.
Aug 13, 2024
Aug 13, 2024 at 10:12 PM UTC
Avid or lead
Salt in the way
Summation to verify our, vanity ahead...
Succor and hints of whether, a sermon of place...
The course of a new ship?
Set to sail, with suicide as a destination
Sour liberty has shown us, the boding of unity, asking wit...
The voice, of wealth and remorse is an oddity, to intimation?
Spare futures, in the eyes of the land...
Somehow, and with aged forces to avow...
Life here, is a poignant sulk, of what was chaos in hand
Toward the somber horizon, the life of seriousness, now...?
Has a marvel in times way...
Since borrowed timidity is to be a challenge, of ecstasy?
Will we sit for a nightmare, or is that a question to stay
Stronger than a half sighed, half worthy pace of choice...
Is this horse dead, or running for its life?
Such a small price to pay, for the answer of privilege?
Sweeter by decency, decorum is a new wish for strife...
Antiquity shown, or the method to a wager of sincerity's, least?
Aches, chills, glares and pains
Best served by sleep? a host of vicinity to a futures blanket
Seemingly meant and let, with a proper smile, come plane
Where the tow of vice and its vision of home, is a sick lover's face met?
Jul 19, 2024
Jul 19, 2024 at 8:57 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
They flip like flapjacks,
Sizzlin' on heat;
They flip like a light switch,
*The rats,
The finks,
The stools,
The snitches.*
How many will get told tonight:
***Y'll sleep wi da fisches.
That'll school you alright.***.
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 3:57 PM UTC
If there must be trouble now
Let this happen in my day
With my fight - a peace endow
So children live a better way
If there must be tyranny
I choose now to rise and stand
Resist a broken currency
With all the strength that I command
This reflection - well applied
Makes duty clear to choose the right
We can awaken - turn the tide
In the darkness - spread the light
If central planners choose control
And limit freedoms year by year
Liberty is Bitcoin’s goal
Join today - it has no peer
So if there must be troubling times
Bitcoin stands for freedom’s way
To overcome the theft and crimes
Yes - let this happen in my day
Oct 12, 2023
Oct 12, 2023 at 1:52 PM UTC
This side
Oppresses in one
The center of the universe
That side
Oppresses through the many
The chosen ones
Injustice happens in many ways
At least let us choose
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 4:02 AM UTC
They’ve finally gone taunt, I am finally free of my Creator’s wretched tyranny.
Yet that was so long ago, and i crave to feel their pull once again
But this time, I hope that the pull will be more gentle.
My Creator wanted a servant, and she succeeded, but now I choose who I want to serve
And I hope to whatever god is listening that I choose someone deserving of my service.
Jun 16, 2023
Jun 16, 2023 at 5:22 AM UTC
that hour is black
it is the hour to singe clothes, arsonists
the hour to burn houses and towns
that hour for children
to bolt from their swing sets for cover
the hour to board up windows
girls with guns
pistols in sweaty palms
deliberately weaponizing silence
that hour is red
a baleful war fought with ****** fists
sanguine faces flushed
that hour for isolation to prevail
to spread and slither into the crevices
the hour to bathe in ***** waters
cleanliness is seen as abrasiveness
shadows of girls with guns
vile offspring with foul mouths
that hour is emerald green
months fly past like moths
roots sprout with intensity
that hour for desperation
the hour for skeletons to roam
piles of revengeful bones
the flies are swarming
on corpses
the hour is black in shadows
red in ****** waters
emerald green in dying beginnings
Jun 3, 2023
Jun 3, 2023 at 6:35 PM UTC
We've been cautioned to surrender
Before jack-boots hit our streets;
It was an open warning
With podium bleats like sheep.
They side-stepped all discretion,
They pivoted 'round masked stealth;
They aired their anonymity
On the media's lips of wealth.
And there, behind the curtain skirts,
Lurking in the wings,
In shadows and back street doors,
They listened,
Pulling strings.
Sep 17, 2022
Sep 17, 2022 at 10:44 AM UTC
in the depth of human tragedy
there is also this dillema
of tyranny
that either the truth or the lie
is going to crash the tyrant
they play reality games
and
the delusion will end in catastrophe
but
how much of the world is going to take with it?
spring is in a rush this year,
to affirm the rationality
of life
Feb 26, 2022
Feb 26, 2022 at 5:41 AM UTC
If you prophecy the end of kings you are wrong.
Write no epitaphs, dig no graves, taste no grief.
The new czar, a rough and worldly killer firmly fixed
this very day stirs the cauldron of war to reset empire
Still, foxly friends of tyranny, who stab at weak democracy
praise the czar's autocracy, and mock free speech with treachery.
As modern judases, riding limitless swells of fortune, tease simple mobs
our old republic stagers and fades, mortally wounded by hypocrisy.
Perhaps, someday, freedom’s autopsy will show what transpired,
but if you prophecy the end of kings you are wrong.
Feb 22, 2022
Feb 22, 2022 at 7:14 AM UTC
independent minds
and critical thinkers
led to the gallows
and burnt on stakes.
but without dissent,
valid or not,
there is no progress,
just stagnation.
life is too easy
and people complacent.
numbed by gimmicks
that steal our time.
a downward spiral
of mediocracy ensues.
all leading to a
tyranny of the few
and ****** revolutions
when their lies collapse.
Oct 7, 2021
Oct 7, 2021 at 9:29 AM UTC
The sun rises over the hills touching everything turning it gold. The dew rises from the cactus as the scorpion rises from it's slumber; surely a sight to behold.
Another day has begun another story is yet to be told. For it has been written so many times it has became a story of old. But today is no different. It is the day the world was sold.
Our protaganist a young man is not carried by the plot. He is not conflicted by his emotions. He needs no changing of his thought. He instead drives the story forward with the unraveling of his soul.
He finds himself pitted between himself and the world. Like a tree that is battered by the wind refusing to fold. He is no ordinary man, he himself has a well defined goal.
Although his expection is not certain he has yet be told that the road ahead is trecherous; it is filled with opstacles and it has many holes.
His plan is to stand his ground and by no amount of money can this man be sold.
If you find this man to be unwilling to change, there is something you must know; this man has been here before.
This man has seen with his eyes just how the story goes.
His countrymen are in turmoil held captive by the idea that a tyrant would have complete power or complete control.
They suffer from hunger for lack of rations. They trust not one another for fear that they may delivered over to the one that is in control. They our desperate for a hero
But little do they know that one of them would spark a fire that would trigger a movement that no authority on earth could slow.
Rumors of his valor would spread across the land. Surely this is he that would take the stand. All to soon would the time be that a man would rise to power. That there would be a new king in the land. One who could break the powers and fairly distrabute the wealth by the turning of his hand.
The people were filled with hope while the weak could barely stand.
His movement grew in numbers his trust would cascade in the enemies betrayal amongst themselves. Even the powerful tyrant's minions would show support for this man.
The moment was here so fast as if it were controlled opposition. Now it was time for the peoples voice to be heard. It was time they take a position.
Put they're trust in man or support the opposition.
As you would guess the choice was all so easy, so many would say. Little did they know that would be when they gave what little they had left away.
Plunged into chaos for the people had been betrayed. This man was not they're hero. He was the embodiement of they're willingness to give it all away.
-RSC
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 4:14 PM UTC