Mob and Propaganda
Brains are rotten—
Fear-begotten,
Drowned in lies by vile deceivers,
Fed with orders from receivers.
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Dull and Crude
****** crowds are dumb and hollow,
Hope is lost in shadows swallowed.
No salvation, none remain—
Only rot and slow decay.
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The Search
A room draped in darkness, a cat lost in black,
Dead now, its stench marks the path that you track.
Stumbling blindly through shadows so dense,
Till at the doorway—a Horse lies, past tense.
Off leaps its Rider—Death’s herald so grim,
Fate had forewarned you, now drink to the brim.
Only your soul’s voice in Hell should obey—
Stay out of rooms where the Darkness holds sway.
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Almost Cycling
The ultimate race—
A game full of grace.
With strength running dry,
Through miles you must fly,
Pace wisely, endure—
Then sprint to be sure!
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"Wooden Medal"
The top three vanish, out of sight,
And I’m left trailing in the fight.
No mistakes, yet here I stand—
Empty hands… how harsh, how bland!
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Fatigue of "Wisdom" and of Age
The weight of age, the years worn thin—
A prize for life so dull within,
For youthful folly, blind and vain,
For lies that wrap like slime and stain.
And when you're drained to your last breath,
With only cure found deep in death—
A fate for those with gifts unchained,
Who walk the path alone, untrained.
A path through madness, chains, and rot,
This "world" where souls are sold and bought.
For Bright Ones' cries will sound absurd
To fools who sneer at burning words.
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Democracy—So Brief a Play
A fleeting game—democracy,
A prelude to tyranny.
Then mobs arise, then rushist rule...
What’s next? Beasts forged from man, so cruel.
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Hamlet Mumbles Rotten Lies
In this Hell, none grieve or cry
Save the fools who don’t ask why.
So rise and fight—no more taboo!
Crush the world’s decaying goo!
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Running in Circles
You pace in circles—then, behold!
A "brand-new" bike, just like of old.
A tweak or two, a shift, a spin—
Now none will call it mad again.
But deeper thoughts? A downward track,
A circle dragging you to black.
The further on, the worse you grow,
Your sickness thriving as you go.
A mind diseased—its world is tight,
Three-fourths will never see the light.
Deceived by crowns, by hollow schools,
Led round in loops like herded fools.
False science spins the same old reel,
Break free—don’t let it shape your wheel!
And don’t, with sweat and toil and guile,
Invent again the motor’s style.
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Forward, Then—Play Your Song
Come on, let's move—your verse, your tune,
The patience wanes, the end is soon.
Away with swine, we’ve had enough—
No more this filth, this crap, this bluff!
To write of swine in verse, you see,
Is part of every fight to be.
With strength spent, light as a breeze,
I’ll leave this Hell, where slaves still freeze.
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A Brief Word on the "Heroes"
A "hero" 'mongst the sheep so meek,
He strains the blunt, the lost, the weak.
He brings the end, the final test—
Through them, the storm, the world’s last breath.
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The Rot of “Classics”
A "classic"—born of banners loud,
Where truth is banned, but lies allowed.
A flash of light? They’ll tear apart—
For “classics” dull both mind and heart.
If boredom strikes, take it as fact:
It’s poison dressed in highbrow tact,
A sugar-coated tyrant’s plea.
Throw out that plague-born filth—be free!
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The Great Meat Factory, or Experts and Brave Men
A hero stands among the sheep,
A skilled expert, sharp and deep.
He builds their pens with utmost care,
And runs the slaughterhouse affair.
He sways them—"This is paradise!"
Fetches orders, swift and nice.
Like a dog, he plays his part,
A darling with a sheepish heart.
If a poisoned shot’s required,
He’s the wolf they all admire.
Drives the herd with ruthless pace,
Never daring to retrace.
Though his masters give him crumbs,
Still, with pride, he beats the drums,
Guiding sheep down heaven’s lane—
To the factory of pain…
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The “Intestinal” Lyre
A Worm within the world's deep gut
Drains all the finest juice and blood.
The Lyre soon will stink of rot—
Its fate is clear, the verdict's cut.
To shine a light like proctoscope,
Dig through the filth, expose the lies,
To stall the Reaper’s hanging rope—
A task that breaks the strongest minds.
Yet madness lurks in filth so vast,
No choices left—just drown or wade.
The Worm has swelled too large at last,
Its toxins fuel a fevered plague.
And CowID proved, in full display,
The world’s deranged beyond repair.
You thought the Beast would stay at bay?
The Madhouse thrives—you placed it there.
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The Vacuum of a Worthless Life
A vacuum roars without restraint,
It swallows dust, it knows no chains.
Clench your teeth—resist its fate,
Or be consumed with all that drains.
With dust will vanish all around—
The noise, the lies, the empty haze.
Yet do not grieve for what is drowned—
Decay now spreads in endless waves.
Corruption creeps through every street,
It spares no soul, it taints the core.
If filth is all you ever meet,
You’ll rot like all who lived before.
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The Chaos of Compliance
They nod along to every lie,
Agree with all—no second thought.
And madness spreads, runs far and wide,
When fools are blind and words are naught.
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The Nonsense of Social Media
Like whips, the networks strike with force—
Censorship masked as "what’s endorsed."
And "grown-up" children take the bait,
Consuming lies at every rate.
They hyped up CowID’s twisted play,
Made wars seem righteous all the way.
The fools have sailed, they own the scene—
Where liars rule, the truth turns lean.
But honest minds can’t break the chain,
Their voices lost, their fights in vain.
A world insane, a false pretense—
Where freedom’s just a hollow fence.
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Nonsense Everywhere
There's nonsense piling up so high,
And garbage floods the endless sky.
While reason drowns without a trace
In filth and vulgarity's embrace.
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Convulsions of Evil
These surges of evil won’t stop or subside—
Too much to endure, nowhere left to hide.
See how the "nations" have fallen so low?
No depths remain—just Death below.
Corruption follows every fall,
Decay now rules, consuming all.
With each new age, the minds grow weak,
And deeper sinks the world we keep...
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Rulers and Their Flock
Half-demon, half-fool, a twisted breed,
With half a mind, and half a creed.
The goal: to feast and hoard it all,
While casting spirit out to fall.
He hinders joy, he blocks the way,
And slaughters all that leads astray.
So let’s praise decay's grim reign—
The people’s used to it by now—insane!
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The Poet
From verse comes "freedom" true,
Or troubles that will follow you,
Or weary, worn-out days,
Or decay in endless maze...
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Facing Death
Face Death—believe, she'll set things right,
She'll mark the end, and end the fight,
For the foolish squirrel in its race,
Caught in the wheel, it can't escape.
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The Bike Race
"The Vuelta." Heat. "Global warming,"
The racer fumes, his years well-spent.
Not a race, but self-consuming,
Ice on his neck, and water sent
To flood him—inside, more and more.
A simple case. What’s next in store?
No chance the Sun will burn less bright—
It'll keep blazing, taking flight...
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Achieving High Status in Society
Comrade Nebelmesov, of mighty weight,
Rose high by serving Beast's cruel fate—
The ladder’s for those who don’t delay,
And now he’s chief of the Stink Brigade.
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"Civic Lyric"
“Civic lyric”—a dog's absurdity,
“Serving the homeland”—like a kennel decree.
To march to the slaughterhouse, for pennies to toil,
To bow to the Beast, with its lies to embroil.
The cudgel's the tool that keeps all secure,
In madness, the homeland’s lost, that’s for sure.
No country exists, for Satan’s embrace
Leads all to total slavery, no war to face.
War's just a relic, seen clear in CowID,
The test wasn’t passed, the truth left denied.
Three-quarters of people—obedient fools,
Fascism rises like Everest's rules.
Above a worthless world, doomed to decay,
That death creeps closer, the sun’s harsher ray.
The world is ablaze, but don’t trust the vile—
Save your soul, though the pain lasts awhile.
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On the Garbage Heap
A click for nonsense, likes for lies,
A comment—"Wow!"—to our demise.
It kills the soul with every breath,
A vile, foul stench that smells of death.
The masses catch this toxic waste,
Spread it fast, there's no restraint.
To fight this evil’s daring grace—
A rarity, unless a saint.
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Religion and Propaganda
Tell the slave that he is free—
Then do with him what you decree.
And if you add, "The Lord's domain,"
You’ll turn him to a mindless stain.
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The Dry Leaf
The dry leaf, a metaphor for dullness,
Unknown 'til now, it shows its face.
More often like a tractor’s sluggishness,
Or a tanker stuck in shallow space.
The leaves fall down in scattered heaps,
Satan gathers, his harvest deep.
Soon, the end—no heavenly grace,
Just the stench of a priest's disgrace.
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Total Power of Satan
Satan says: "We've reached the deep,
Yet still they chant, 'A god to keep.'
Everywhere, the war with reason—
If god exists, he’s weak and treason.
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Sing, oh song, across the plains
Drown the fools in drunken strains!
Thieves in power, lies in store,
And the traitor leads the corps.
--- Total 30 poems. ---
