"cultists" poems
I would like to say
That well, I'm bored
Really I should be quite gay
Heck I'm playing as a Nord!
Thing with this game is its quite large
You can swing a sword or fry an Orc
You can hop a barge to places unknown (Solstheim)
Only to fight a bunch of cultists. (Didn't rhyme but I got some serious beef with those guys)
So by now you should know what I'm playing
What else could it be but the best game around
If you don't you should be praying
Because its Skyrim you friggin hound!
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
Have you seen it?
This seething,
teeming mass of maggots.
Climbing and crawling,
calling and clawing.
Just to try and reach the top,
Of some disgusting
worthless
pyramid.
To become king,
King of the filth
-
So herd-like
So insect-like
-
Like a putrid swarm
of approval seeking locusts.
Eating, using
Owning and destroying
Everything they can find.|
-
A virus
A parasite
Clinging desperately to a dying host.
-
These ancient sand-cultists
would have us die here
Starving, thirsty and cold.
But with
unification
and
order
We could set our sights
upon the stars.
N.H.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
They said there would be a day,
When rivers become oceans,
Boats become airplanes,
And mountains become islands.
Well that day has come,
Got to climb to a higher ground now or drown.
The rain is drumming down,
Covering over every ground.
They said there would be a day,
When God would toss a stone.
Hurtling It across space,
To crush every bone.
Well that day has come,
No where to hide and no where to run.
The end is here and it is coming for everyone.
The sewers are overturning drowning the vermin in their own ****
It’s the end of the mother ******* world, and I’m welcoming it!
They said this day would never come,
That the world would always be the same.
Well the day has come.
The world needed a change,
So God tossed a stone at it!
It came like a thief in the night.
People looked from the ground and looked to the sky,
And saw rain, hail and asteroids coming down!
It took all of that for them to raise an eye.
This is the end,
And also the beginning.
Welcome the change,
Or be washed away!
Woe to the *** offenders;
Woe to the paedophiles;
Woe to the *****
Woe to the ******
Woe to the politicians;
Woe to the cultists;
Woe to the tyrants;
Woe to the killers;
And woe to all those who call evil good.
Mother earth has had enough of your ****
She is putting and end to all of it.
They said there would be a day,
When all of this evil was washed away.
And now that it is here,
I have never been so happy to say:
I’m watching the ground give way into a chasm,
I’m watching the vermin being swallowed by the ocean.
I’m watching bus sized hail leveling the cities.
I’m watching an astroid hitting earth off it’s axis.
I’m warching earth being hurtled across space.
I’m witnessing the change.
I’m welcoming it with open arms.
Don’t just call me an anarchist,
Look into what I am saying.
You really can’t accept change,
Well, it doesn’t accept you either.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 5:30 PM UTC
The devil is sitting at a table
make sure to provide top service,
and if you are somehow able,
hide that his aggression makes you nervous.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
it might be time for us Canucks to pull a 1814.
How can someone do absolutely nothing right?
and think what will be a nightmare will help revive an American dream?
The devil is sitting at the desk,
and he’s got yes men to shine and kiss his shoes.
It was finally time for him to fail a test
but his misguided cultists refused to let him lose.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
even if the occupant is known to be orange.
He’s shutting the gates just too tight,
rushing Capitol instead of tearing his door hinge.
The devil is sitting at a table
he’s got the finest cutlery set,
and the legs of it aren’t stable
with each wobble he places his next bet.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
I think it needs to be stripped and gain a new coat.
Why is a symbol of oppression dressed up so bright,
when it’s walls protect one and strangle every other throat?
He “did everything right” and they indicted him;
and now we fight eachother when we should be fighting him.
These people have forgot how the world turns,
infact they believe it’s stationery and around them.
So they anticipate heat when they make the world burn,
and await a rose after they rooted and snapped each stem.
Isn’t it absolutely insane
how the free can unknowingly live in a prison?
Didn’t anyone tell you even a Hurricane
can’t cleanse American Capitalism?
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 11:07 AM UTC
oh neurotic naked mind
wander from one clichéd cafe to another
Greek cultists and robo bros
turn into red-eyed anarchists
proclaiming psychedelic truths
into a stale, smoky haze
as the syncopations and warm crackles
of an overused Dizzy record
erratically dance from one ear to the next
spreading viral vibes, infecting body and soul
washing over dusty hidden corners
where solitary geniuses discover cosmic beauty
in half-empty, half-full contemplations
of swirling coffee, cream, and sugar
is this past or future?
nostalgia for an imagined past?
hope for an impossible future?
living in a world of delusion,
false narratives filling an otherwise empty life
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
You stare and watch me bleed,
the blood blankets my face.
I'm on my hands and knees,
is this what you wanted?
You laugh and cheer and chant,
like cultists around a sacrifice.
I can see what you can't,
even through the blood in my eyes.
I am here and I'm alive,
I am going to survive.
And what you don't know,
is that I will grow,
and be better than before.
I feel cut off at the knees,
trained to eat out of your hand.
What I would give to be free,
an arm and a leg would be fine.
I feel like a broken record,
or maybe the average televangelist.
My words repeat over and over,
but no one cares to listen.
I am here and I'm alive,
I am going to survive.
And what you don't know,
is that I will grow,
and be better than before.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
Dude, cultists are so awful.
Double-speak, indirect action,
All this horrid pageantry.
The intelligence is so lacking,
The feebleness so evident.
Not only in the strength of their arguments
But by the content of its body.
Frankenstein & the monster.
Very stupid.
Arrogant, ignorant?
Yep.
Short-sighted, unintelligible?
Absolutely.
It would stun to think
If it weren't so simplistic.
To take such a reductionist view
On things so complex,
I do understand that need for you.
Baseless threats
And poor attempts at intimidation.
Meek control
Where everything is construed as favor.
Cannibals,
Obsessed with their palate & others' flavors.
Barbarians,
Bastardizing the words of others.
But to run with it
After you understand it,
You're a ******* imbecile.
To not build upon it
But to take it as gotten:
You don't get anything.
It shows.
Apr 28, 2025
Apr 28, 2025 at 10:03 PM UTC
ALVARADO Old friend, admit,
You have not crossed this river Styx before,
But I and that long-suffering soldier have,
And seen such sights to make your codstones crawl:
I mean the hell of human sacrifice.
When trumpets howl, and myrrh infects the air,
A wall-broad drum resounds a thundering knell,
To call the cultists to their grisly pyramid.
A drum is heard, repeating at intervals.
One victim strains across the clammy slab,
A ghoul down-wrenching at each tortured limb,
To keep the spinal shambles tautly arched;
To see the black, satanic hangman leer,
With clotted snarls of hair, and clawlike nails,
Lifting the cutlery to tremble skyward,
And to this brittle bird cage plunge the flint;
He loots the poor chest of its jewel. The heart,
Exhumed, hot from the plundered cavity,
Reluctant to desist its wonted pulse,
Still shudders in the fiend’s vampiric gripe,
Which he uprears to slake the smoldering sun.
Unearthly, braying like a beast possessed,
And, wielding disarticulated joints-
The fleshless femurs of a ****** maid-
Or, glaring through a mask of patchwork flesh,
The druid forges down the crannied steps,
Cascading with a rill of molten marrow.
He kicks the corpse to tumble in the throng,
Who spring to ****** his gobbets for their dish,
And chant (the word goes) “Now our gods are coming . . .”
They exit.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
Inspiration to these things
Brotherhood brings me back to nowhere
And I'm wallowing in my own confusion
His death is what I'm fearing
A source to endless forest
If the trees are laid to rest
What's the point of anything?
Growing up in a bogus paradise
Is it ever right?
To stay in here and wait
For that day
These melodies in the distance
They prey with images of cultists
Defining what is and isn't
The forest has burned to ashes
To be in the wake of this wrong doing
Giving life to the masses
It passes
Stay out of my way
I fear that I will decay
(And never see paradise)
The wisp mothers are killed
Harvested for insecurities
Release the day
Release the one who will be
The only thing I will ever need
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 1:22 AM UTC