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Sam Hamilton Jan 2014
Pick up the bones
Littered on the ground like a necklace
You made when you were five
Out of sea shells and mermaid hair
Wishing that you had scales and that you could swim
Because little girls don’t play in sandboxes anymore
But in their mothers’ makeup
Pretending to get fake injections in their face
Popping Smarties that they wish were diet pills
While they wait for their ******* to come in
The ones like Barbie’s: disproportional to her body—
A twenty pound weight that forces you forwards
With puckered lips and wrinkled spine—
Setting them up for disappointment and therapy
That comes in exactly the same shade of pink as the doll house
That promises real answers and quick fixes
Which figurines can’t convincingly lie about
Because they are more real as a plastic piece of childhood
Than the science behind depression and the statistically-backed  
positives of fancy water with antioxidants.

Pick up the bones
While little boys play with firecrackers and rocks
Popping them at the feet of faceless passersby
Wondering if the snaps are anything like the guns
From COD instead of WWII
Hoping that the girl next door will grow up to be a ****
But more interested in her mom being a cougar
That cigarettes will stop being bad for them
Because Indiana Jones made them look so cool
And leather jackets will always be in style
So they grow bored with legos and G.I. Joe’s
Because there’s no ***, no violence in imagination—
Not real violence anyway.

So bend down and pick them up
The shattered remains of what was left of the pretend baby
You thought you wanted
What was left of you before you remembered to dye your hair
And to darken your eyes with black smudges
What was left of your brother before he joined the army
Before he fell inside a scotch bottle and drowned
In the amber liquid that reminded him of *****
Passed down from your father.
Clutch at what was left of your sister before she wasted away into
The shallow shell of what she thought was beautiful
To the point of emaciation
Because pointed elbows and sunken cheeks
Will get her the movies she thinks she wants
And that you know she won’t get because she’s
Become too fake, too plastic to play a’real-boy.’

Now put them in your pocket
Because the wind is blowing and you’re afraid they will fly away
Afraid you will too without them to weigh you down
To keep you here.

Tuck them up and wrap them in mermaid hair and sea shells
And wish that you could be the person who played in sandboxes
And only cried if she got shampoo in her eyes
The one who made necklaces instead of doctor’s appointments
And laughed at herself instead of being tired all the time.

You put them in your pocket
And pray that someday you’ll figure out how to put them back together
Stand them up like a statue
One that you can make wave or frown
But not smile because you can’t remember what theirs looked like
(And it wouldn’t be realistic anyway)
So that you can make-believe
they never fell apart in the first place and that you never fell apart with them.
Michal Shilor Mar 2014
it's your turn.
go.
"in muddy footprints i see faces
that Picasso would have drawn,
in ***** floors and
unwashed dishes lay the lies
and promises i told myself
in backwards orders,
with misplaced eyes,
glasses,
mouths.
and now, my turn's arrived,
and i've nothing to confess!
point taken.
i don't know what it is.
it's Picasso in my mind.
Van Gogh: self-portrait.
missing parts,
misplaced parts,
misinterpretation of an education
too-well carried out.
dirt piles up and i play,
a little girl amused,
like when i learned about
maps,
navigation,
topography in sandboxes.
i was so much older than a little girl and yet i still belong in sandboxes!
there i can pretend to be
Picasso,
there i can call this
'art.'
and i can't call it art anywhere else
because it's not,
it's not artistic in the real world,
and there,
there exists no ideal.
only confusion.
but of another sort-
not the kid described on these pages.
my pages.
my turn?
i've not much to say, not
that would mean anything to you, anyway.
in cloudy visions i see
smoke
that Picasso could have
breathed,
in,
out,
breath.
in,
out,
smoke.
his smoke must have been
so full of art!
oh!
what is art!"
you'd get along here, just fine,
you're friendly enough,
i can tell.
"so it's my turn?
i wouldn't get along
anywhere, no,
i wouldn't last a day
without him,
but that's a different life.
a life so far away,
built like castles in sandboxes
on playgrounds that wish they were
the beach,
wish to hear the ocean,
wish to feel the waves,
and. yet.
that is art,
is it not?
beauty in the wishes
of personified concepts.
the life that lives in
another time,
(where do i belong?) but
i don't remember and
i
am so tired
of 'i'!
oh. no.
in shattered windows i see
accidents,
injuries,
deaths.
but some of it is beautiful.
you must think i'm
sick,
sadistic,
too influenced by art.
i assure you i won't cut off my ear but it's
very possible i'll dream in
figures
misaligned.
missing eyebrows,
misplaced lashes.
bifocals keep me from speaking clearly,
fogged with every exhalation of
smoke:
1920's Hollywood actresses,
mascara too thick,
lipstick too red,
cancer sticks between slender fingers.
tap.
ashes fall.
in ashes on linoleum floors,
flourescent lighting,
i see-
never mind.
you'll think i'm more dangerously sadistic
than is safe,
at this point.
i don't see anything at all,
no linoleum, non flourescents
to reflect your muddy footprints,
no Picasso faces this time around.
in muddy footprints i see...
faces misaligned, i see...
wheels in overdrive.
and you say i'll get along there,
'just fine'!
go.
it's your turn.
i hope i haven't scared you away.
there's not much time
before another day."
zero Aug 2018
Sandbox giggles and seesaw chuckles
echo around the park.
Little ones pitter patter on tarmac and grass,
oblivious to their age.
All they know is the sun is shining
and they're going to feel like this forever.

Rubber throwing and hushed whispers
echo around the classroom.
Schoolkids adding and subtracting,
oblivious to their age.
All they know is that they hate math
and they're going to be an astronaut when they grow.

Cheesy pop songs and girly giggles
echo around a bedroom.
She's curling her friend's hair and smiling,
oblivious to her age.
All she knows is that Jake is a cutie
and she's going to marry him when she's 21.

Birthday wishes and lots of love!
echo around the dinner table.
He's having his first beer as an 18-year-old and loving it,
oblivious to his age.
All he knows is that he's going out tonight
and staying up till dawn.

Baby rattles and first words
echo around the house.
The baby is mumbling its first word,
oblivious to the meaning behind it.
All it knows is that its mummy is warm
and it's daddy smells nice.

Memories of sandboxes and summer nights
echo around their heads.
They're laying in a bed in a sanitary place,
oblivious to the current situation.
All they know is that their time is up,
but they had such fun whilst it lasted.
I found out my cousin is 10, not 8 as I remembered.
I held him when he was born...
Time is such a weird thing,
we're oblivious to it's passing,
but in the end, we notice it more than ever.

-Dilon.xo
AJ Jan 2015
It all used to be really simple.
And I'm not talking about
Crayons and sandboxes simple.
I mean,
These people will take care of you,
And these people will love you,
Everything is familiar
And soothing
And unified
And simple.

I'm just a casualty of a war that happened miles away.
I'm not sure of any of the details.
And the aftermath is foggy as well.
I just don't know what happened.
Just that everyone is gone.
Every one who used to love and take care of me.
And who I loved and took care of.

I don't long for sandboxes and crayon simplicity.
Just a time where things were....
When we all were.....
When I knew what the **** was going on.
Sean Banks Apr 2014
“Listen here kid, have a seat.
Let me tell you about
The family.”*

You can choose your friends
But you can’t choose
Your family….

…and apparently you can’t choose
your career either.

This is dedicated to
my brother in crime
The younger brother
With stronger
Morals and values
Than mine.

The family is broken,
And your older brother is broke
And in the eyes of a distant father
You know we are both jokes

We are not prodigies
We are not straight A students
We are small town oddities
And some would say we are ruined

We were born into this life.
We were born into financial comfort
Bathed in upper middle class stability
Taught racism is acceptable as long
As we keep it to ourselves, and laugh
As if we are not serious.

We learned that as we grow up, dreams become schemes

We were raised believing we would succeed.
And success is defined by money.

The monetary system is god.
I will be the doctor
You will be the lawyer
And because the system isn’t flawed
We are.

Money is not good, money is god.
I’ve spent a lot of god on beer.

So when we watch our bloodline bicker
Like bad kids in sandboxes,
When we watch adults undermine
Each other’s “parenting skills”
Remember,

You did not chose this
You were born into this.

And as the age old argument
Of genetic versus environment
Rages on like arguments
Over furniture and kitchenware
Remind yourself
It’s not an argument.
Its your environment.

Today my little brother’s heart was broken
And his dreams were shattered like a
Malicious marriage
Divorced, and separated,
By god.

My little brother will not be an RCMP officer
And if he doesn’t know it yet,
This is the best thing to ever happen to him.

Just because your eyes aren’t apparently good enough
They have never stopped you from seeing right from wrong
They are wrong.
You are more then alright.

Cops are more crooked than the criminals they can’t catch
So whatever you do, don’t catch flack
For not having a backup plan
You turn 17 tomorrow, man…
Kid.
Be one.
For a kid can be anything.

You can race san dunes in the desert.
You can rebuild muscle cars and motorbikes.
You can make unique one of a kind furniture.
You can open a restaurant, even a bar.
You can be the next big sensation in Country music, or rap.
Or both.
You will live. You will smile
And you will make other do the same.

Brother, we can do anything.
Hell, when our parents die,
Miserable and alone,
We will inherit their throne
all of their god.

And we can take their god,
Design ourselves some superhero outfits
Break laws in order to fix them
We can grow and sell dope by donation
And make the difference
That neither our parents
Or the police
Are able to do.

I’m proud to share blood with you.
We are superheroes.
We are gods.
We are brothers in crime.
SG Holter May 2014
There's room for your every
Blade between my ribs.
I have a thousand other
Cheeks to turn when

You need to fling
Frustration from the channels
Of your heart's palms.
I can take all your punches.

I am a statue to your weathers.
I am the sound of handfulls of
Dirt and pebbles against an empty
Casket. I can take out my every

Nerve, my heart, my pain centre
And place it in a pocket; take it
All back out when you need to
Dillute your tears with mine

Over some matter that weighs
Heavy on the hearts of little
Girls playing with big boys; falling
From swings designed for

Denser bones and hands rough
From climbing. I am the teddy
Bear missing an eye and a limb,
Exposing stuffing through seams

Torn from being dragged over
Stairs and through sandboxes,
Always a thump behind little legs
That carry love for it, unequal to

Any.
E A Bookish Mar 2016
Yesterday you died and I bought lilies for you.
But wait, back up, this isn’t where it starts.
:
Last year I was in an airport and saw lilies
And fingers touching the petals and the stems
Like a lover
And I had never looked at lilies as lovely before.

No, this isn’t right, this is still not the beginning.
:
I think it began when I was just a kid and I saw
A smile for the first time
It wasn’t for anything serious,
I didn’t know what lilies were back then
I made daisy chains instead
I got ***** in sandboxes and didn’t understand
Romance films. Still don’t, but that’s by choice.

But no, let’s move forward, there is too much
To tell
:
There is a day in which you fry me bacon and eggs
There is a day in which I mix the colours and whites in the wash
And everything turns pink and we laugh
There is a day in which your car breaks down
And I drive you to work.

There are some hours we spend in front of the TV
There are some hours we spend walking in the park
There are some hours we argue and
There are some hours where we just smile as we read in silence, Together.

There is the time you buy me a ring
There is the time I buy two tickets to Morocco
There is the time in Morocco where we dance in a bazaar
There is the time I argue with your parents about refugee policy
There is the time we spend Christmas in a tent in Colorado
There is the time you tap my forehead
When I say something funny, when we’re drunk.

And then there is the time
I buy you lilies for no reason other than I saw someone
Touching them in an airport, and you cry
They’re your favourite you say and
Did you know, you say
They mean purity, in both Christianity and Buddhism?
That it was formed from the breast milk of Hera, or
In the case of the Easter Lily, the sweat of Christ? You say,
You should be a Tiger Lily –you’re belligerent enough, you say,
Lilies are ****** and lilies are pure and lilies are death
And these are Lilies of the Valley
For our second year of marriage.
:
I had no idea, but smiled anyway.

So now we can return to the end.
:
There is an accident
There is a hospital
There is waiting
There is laboured breathing
There are machines beeping
There are tears.

Then there is a funeral
And I can no longer give you lilies
Because you do not have hands I can touch
So I give them to a block of stone with
Your name on it, instead.

I adopt lilies as my favourite flower
So I can never forget.
Will Storck Jan 2010
What’s this?
A relic from my childhood.
Long forgotten.  
Memories spring forth from nowhere.
My imagination is brought forth front and center
And history is repeated
For me alone.
I watch the movie
Every emotion (such joy, such fury, such sadness)
I feel again with renewed vigor.
Cringing in childish embarrassment and smiling the way children do.
Every motive (children are really such fickle creatures; innocence isn’t something learned)
Is held dear again in my heart, overriding my ethic, my values.
My senses are overwhelmed with old, dusty film reels and stale popcorn.
I grip the armrests of my seat; I cannot take my eyes off.
I laugh at every cereal-box quality joke and cry over every scraped knee.
I even feel the relief and comfort the cartoon-character Band-aid brings.
Sandboxes and freshly cut grass.
Bright, warm sunlight and the rabbit hutch.
Vacations with Mom and Dad together.
The movie ends but lives on as I walk out of the theatre.
Like a tattoo on my shadow, it walks with me home.
All of this in a blink of an eye.
I remember.
Spencer Dennison Sep 2014
We are monuments.
Every one of us.
I see before me,
men, women and children
and each one of us is a pillar
upon which entire worlds were built.
Too often do I find this innate sense of guilt,
that stems from not becoming
what we should have been.
I've seen opera singers sell their vocal chords
and take up vows of silence.
I've seen warriors give up the art of violence
and become holy men.
I suppose everything will fall in doubt,
now and then.
But we are pillars,
built to hold up things bigger than ourselves.
If any single one of us fails,
our whole house grows weaker.

This is the place we have been given,
to walk upon and live in.
Each one of it's valleys and peaks
and ditches and creeks
has heard the voice that speaks
of humanity.
Our impact upon this land is timeless.
Yet it seems that yesterday's graveyards,
will become today's sandboxes
until they are tomorrow's graveyards.

We are the pillars that hold up the sky,
we will all stand and we will all fall,
without really knowing why,
but the morale of every story
is hidden behind the words
like the forest behind the trees.
I know we all have memories
but these,
these are for you.
Even if all they ever do
is get you through this one day
then that have paved the way
for tomorrow.
That's all you can ask for, really,
is tomorrow.
One day, we will be denied.
Kyla Dec 2011
One might say I loved you.

Sandboxes and puppy paw print tires
is what I remember of you.
Long hot summers spent splashing knee deep in plastic pools.
Cold winters spend building forts,
bundled up so tightly we could spend hours out there.

I used to sit at your fence and have conversations with your dog,
convinced he was the only one who understood me.

King,
Of the backyard you were.
I,
was your queen.
kenz Oct 2016
you were a ******* masterpiece;

a shattered hurricane
of broken hands
and ****** knuckles
and mascara stains
that never really washed out

so impeccably broken
so wonderfully flawed

you tore the ocean to shreds
you scattered the sand
and ripped apart the sunrise

like an old picasso lost in the basement
like that ******* whisper in the oven
like poetry written in broken bottles
and empty sandboxes

i guess i've always had a penchant
for a beautiful disaster

i've always touched the edge of the fire
and waited for my fingertips to burn

but i didn't mean to fall into the flame

now i've got ashes in my bones
and embers in my skin
and when i touch the fire
it just ******* freezes me

i didn't know what it was like to miss something
until i felt it in every single cell in body

i didn't know what it was like to miss something
until i didn't know how to feel anything else

we broke twilight in half
and crawled inside the empty space
and somehow it still doesn't feel like home

nothing feels like home without you anymore

i'm still ticking off the calendar backwards
for when i can finally count time
on my own hands again;

i want to count for you
but my fingers just don't bend that way
and i want to prove to you i mean it
i always meant it
but i can't make my knuckles turn past
the black and blue

i'm sorry i couldn't love you like you meant it
i'm sorry i couldn't make you believe it

i hope the roadkill in your driveway
at least makes it to the graveyard
since you never did lay me to rest

i hope your own dreams at least get a eulogy
even though god himself knows you don't deserve it
SG Holter Mar 2015
The Cumaean Sibyl was the priestess presiding over the Apollonian oracle at Cumae, a Greek colony located near Naples, Italy. The word sibyl comes (via Latin) from the ancient Greek word sibylla, meaning prophetess. (Wikipedia)


Songs of prophecy on oaken leaves
Unread; unclaimed; unrequested
Fly from out either of the many entrances
To her cave chambers.

She doesn't mind. Poet or prophet, the
Wind has hands greater than human;  
Words without willing ears wrestle away
Without struggle.

Only they and the wind see the beauty
Of it. She? She doesn't mind.
Guide to the Underworld, she has greater
Things to meditate on than

The Infants of the Universe
In their insignificant sandboxes.
Here; more poetry. Come who may,
To read.*

Who may.
Apollo's twisted payment for her
Pleasures: As many years of life as grains
Of sand in her hand.

But she forgot to ask for youth.
After a thousand years, only her voice is
Left, whispering: Children, all will
Be well. It already is.


It already is.
Radwan Jun 2010
Arise! Arise you hopeful young tadpoles.
Come forth ye mighty messengers of joy.
To arms my children... To Arms!
This be no game. Don't let it fool you..
Can't you see our trickster ? I know I can.
He's always smiling, eagerly baring his teeth,
flashing them for our prying, unsavoring eyes.
And we, we my friends, are staring dully onward
Blind to his sarcasm, blinded by our own vision.
Oh you young hopefuls.
Why do you trouble us with such ancient questions ?
Why are you not of the learned ?
All you were destined to do was shine and light up the night's sky..
Like earthly Orion's celestial belt.
Why must you burrow now ?
Arise you tender hatch-lings... break your eggs.
Can't you see how fragile your shell shields actually are ?
I know I can.
To arms my children! join me in oblivion.
The fray is but a ruse.
Fear is a coward's excuse.
Be swift of hand and light of heart.
Your minds are but sandboxes.
Were they not once empty ?
Before mighty Morphius visited our backyards;
they were all empty, barren and oh so hopeful.
Oh you mighty brother of Delight... It was your cruelty that dragged her down.
Down into delirium.
where she now giggles, cries, screams and gasps in symposium.
you broke her, although she may have been broken earlier.

Arise you miserable tadpoles. The land is warm and welcoming.
Its soil, sands and snow all ache for your budding legs.
Say No to vegetative awareness.
Say No to boredom's persistence.
Come forth you mighty messengers of joy.
Slip on your armor, this is going to be a rough ride.
Our home awaits.
And now allow me to light your bottoms on fire.
And launch you into space.
I won't stand for no crier.
And when you face your brothers; those ugly friars.
Those frogs.
These acclaimed humans, your so called kin and countrymen;
Do not hide your hatred; bury not your malice, but your sympathy.
So when you see their beady empty eyes and power hungry lashes and whip like tongues;
don't fret and don't seek to befriend them.
For their sweat is poison and they reek of cyanide.
Don't seek safety by joining them.
Arise my children and step into my light.
The cakes are all warm and today's sun is still bright.
Timidity, Optimism, Dreams, One's Kin
RJ Days Feb 2017
No milquetoast kids dare summit jungle gyms
nor dream from monkey bars suspended
o’er perilous mulches, heads filled by the sanguine
rush of juvenile enthusiasm for garden hoses
bruised knees and peanut butter sandwiches;

Only august lad or lass may escape those sandboxes
to tumble into the cavernous ball pit of emancipation,
last dino bones dug up and whirling whispers
lost soon as spoken across merry-go-round envisioning
fantastic autumn nights that promised monsters

Forsaken mud pies dry and crack, no more edible
with juice box than without, hopscotching into
sportsball cartoon boom box jumprope Sunday songs
of Jesus midwest bedtime prayers, sincerest supplication
application for wellness heaven and bully protection

We seesaw through scraps of nostalgia, frolic
into slip-sliding wet hot summer drops to mask
messy tears, swimming defiantly away from repentance
but begging a little help from God to keep the rusty
swing set chains from breaking now as we push higher

Sure, it takes some work to build a playground right,
and what sign do we have it's safely been constructed?
for Sean
SJ Sullivan Jan 2016
2 fitted sheets, stretched and tucked atop each
other. A nesting home for soft bugs with thousands
of legs, in which you cannot see.
Why does it smell like Michigan basement
bathrooms, and size 4 feet in turtle sandboxes.

Painted, chipped, salvageable wood only shows
it's gritty teeth in the day light.
leaking through shower curtain rings on
the makeshift curtains like pool water
through the cracks in your smiling eyes,
blue goggles, the ones that cover the nose.

the longer you listen to the silence,
the louder it gets.
or is that the sounds of fan blades
ripping through the indescribable texture of
the stale air you swim through each night.

You'd swear you experienced a sonic boom here,
the bull whip cracking from over pressure. or is it
under pressure? I always thought that pressure
weighed like pounds and tons. I still don't
know if that is wrong.

I won't remember the sound of your laugh,
or the way you smell, or the clothes you wore
when we met. Like a good poet should.
But I'll remember all the things we forgot
to do together. All the times we spoke but
got too high to listen.

High, like the time I told you I thought
the trees and the sun were making
strobe lights for our long drive into
October. Flashing light in the car windows,
as we drove down the open freeway.

It's easy to remember the world
was made for us, when we are
alone, here, in this room, together,
like we were before, and will be soon
once again.
Find my subsequent poem.
Francie Lynch Jun 2014
For three years she has moved me
Through the wonders of her eyes.
Flowing wells that glisten,
And beckon within.
     Her sudden movements
     Change direction
     To challenge or outwit
With the wonder of her eyes.

Furtive corners in the waters
Of her eyes, looking out:
A blink, a wink or shying tear
Disturbs ripples in my mind.

     My heart's flow rises
     When she smiles:
     She is the well-spring of  my life
With the wonder of her eyes.

Her hands direct the steerage
Of her course.
Sandboxes swell and dip,
And change to wonderous seas.
Her real dimensions are
Refracted, movements and directions,
Then defracted from my sight.

Imagine, her young colours
Looking out
Through the wonders
Of her eyes.
For my second born beauty, Margret Ellen.
wordvango Jul 2017
the saying quaint is memory
I am surprised i remembered it
six almost long decades
since I tried to tell myself to never forget
how the  day is wonderfilled
we have sandboxes
beloved pets
steel toy cars and backyards
we explore like jungles
swings and naps
when life gets tiresome
amongst the sunrises and hours spent
getting acquainted
to this life
a sister who is nice
at times
and moms and dads
peaches and
cream
longings to grow up and see
everything
sidewalks leading to
we do not know where
just dream
they have sights unseen
deep down in the
grey of now the
hard to read story of those years
all are written down
archived
like bubblegum on a bedpost
sweetness of that first kiss
that recall
of  days
that are so malleable
just don't forget
or get all old
Elizabeth Jan 2015
Time is relative.
It can yell. It can scream.
But it can't run backwards.*

It takes 8 minutes for the light from the sun to reach the earth,
And hundreds of thousands of this exact timeframe
for the sun's inexistent sound to permeate in permanence.
A solar explosion would annihilate the human force.
Everything we know would sublimate into a vacuumed space.
All knowledge of everything,
Vanished in a fiery apocalypse.
Death would arrive before it even happens.
So what is the purpose of life if death could already be here,
Eight minutes from this moment?
The time it takes to boil noodles,
Take a shower,
Eat a bowl of cereal,
Could be the last spoken,
Thought,
Performed part of everything.

How should I believe time is real,
Death is cheated,
God is listening,
When this minute could be my eighth?

I swing my chainless pocket watch and count each of my five hundred seconds.
And wonder if it would be simpler to exist where time doesn't.
But each child climbs higher on the playground's jungle gym,
Reaching for doctorates and dissertations,
Their watches not as precisely examined as my own.
No worry of things that are all too possible
In just a matter of time-
School shootings,
Asteroid strikes,
Uncontrollable plagues-
While my watch counts nanoseconds as it falls onto Earth's surface,
Their watches spin rampantly,
Drilling into their sandboxes.
I see this,
The same age I was years before,
And these children melt into wheel chairs and death beds alike,
Their children mourning their passing,
While their children's children,
Crippled with tears,
Hold the hands of their parents in desperation
for an agony so ripping.
And all the while I see the sun exhale its time.
The trees ignite,
the sidewalks smelt with the burning grass and buildings.
And just as I peer into the beyond,
My rusting pocket watch clinks with the sanded surface of this childhood play box.
Inspired by "Interstellar"
Wonthelimar brought Spinalonga up to the regency of Kalydon, with whom Theus was waiting for him, it was easy to spot Wonthelimar when he emerged, crossing from Lasithi near the town of Psicro. In the Dikti mountains, constituting the cordilleran fringe, he had to cross extended by the east of the island of Crete in the peripheral unit, and by the west by the peripheral unit of Heraklion. They continued on through the broken inner cavern outlets of Wonthelimar, and his entourage until they were on the west straight and across the surface that would join Plaka and Kalydon. The tornadoes were felt as they collided in the thousand isobars, here voices of an infant who was protected by some ibexes on Mount Dicte could be heard, the goddess Rea could be seen as she looked at them calmly when she had her son in Amalthea's nursery, near another complex on Mount Ida, at elevation 1500. They headed by land through Heraklion, before definitively setting off along the dictates of the Dicte, crossing the low peaks of Ida, being able to notice that Infante Zeus had already cracked one of the antlers of some Amalthea ibex, crashing into the Cornucopia with its rays. Further away, towards the mid-***** of the Ida, quarzian lightning bolts are seen that were deployed with explosive devices, with apparent paradoxes that were looming anthropomorphic linked to the logic of self-contradiction. Wonthelimar notices and was warned by Vlad who pointed out with his hand that he was a special being who knew how to disguise himself with the magins of lightning, leaving only his premise hidden in the corner of innocence, for those who do not warn multinational or being from the mountains that he would go out alone to walk away from his lair blessed by the ferocity of the fulminations. Being only appearances until the esoteric image of a sleepy being that walked sleepwalking materialized, with books that burned around him, reading all the languages ​​of the world when uttering them. Without a doubt it was Epimenides, managing to be distinguished by the Kyrios, who were the wise masters!

Here he announced the way to spot and distinguish himself with the Kyrios, who denied him when he was hiding behind the rays, but it was undoubtedly because it was stipulated that he lived in the cavern of the Ida and the Dicte, when he had to go with sandboxes. towards lower Crete, where he sometimes had to descend, only if authorized by Zeus. The Kyrios distinguished him because Paul of Tarsus had mentioned to them about his abilities and behaviors of some Cretans. Wonthelimar ran up to him defying some lightning that protected him, and hugged him, he resisted but Epimenides finally told him some phrases of his epistles in his immediate ears of Ibex, making it clear that the false statements ended up sunk in the Aegean by ingesting lightning that they took all the fictions towards the deep sea, where all logic does not knowingly false. The plot would become an essay on the democracy of knowing and witnessing, with the logic that got out of phase with politics with this stratagem, which converged on the true appearance of politics without democracy, as good of satisfaction of the humanity that emerged in the *****. of this same. This the succulent Athenian affirmation was based on Aristotle and Plato, this interweaving will lie in the administration of Spinalonga when it was ceased from the regency of the Ottomans and the religious orthodox who lived there, only leaving the Manes Apsidas with the open cells of Eden of darkness, pointing at influential reflections. Wonthelimar asserted that the Pergamon frieze was in contention with the democracy of Pericles, to rebuild an Athens overwhelmed by the Persians. From this boundary and political device arises the analogy or parody of a sunken homeland, to re-emerge as a globalized metropolis, as a social phenomenon that had to administer what its fellow man should do ethically if not made by the ghostly waste of abandonment; in this case, the Manes Apsidas incubated. Thus, for centuries and centuries, the good was represented more distant from the autarkic bureaucratic center, creating the distant spaces until the jurisdiction of Syracuse, Megara, and finally, the most emblematic one that is Spinalonga, characterized by prototypical oligarchic and democratic regimes, crowded with military ordinances that are divided into a total imperative and individualized democratic need of progeniture, on a dark and abandoned military island, inhabited by a grotesque theater of tragedy, then at the expense of a fortuitous anti-democratic ***** colony in the labor of the Manes Apsidas, who remained as the only promoters of a microcontinent to liberate.
Theus at Kalydon
Eleanor Apr 2019
The difference of a summer now and then
But it's not so sad you cry, it’s not too sweet you ache, it’s not so new it’s free, but, it’s there, and you do feel it,
like the sun touching the ancient ground,
the sky clearing and joining back together in dark fluffy clouds,
The time for rainbows and naps, a time for sandboxes and strollers,
But that time is not now,
There is a time for crying, a time for your first smiling, for dressing up and goodbye-ing,
But, that time is not now.
Johnny Noiπ Mar 2019
Remember that the brains of Eden's *****
and the nature of the ****** vitamins are
fish too old to smoke today, writing dark
slug games it is difficult to identify
the clothes of the public sector dressed
in the Greek movement. The types of hearing
are an emergency such as sandboxes in the hill
state; the fall of the cinematic experience
of succeeding at the high level of Sophie,
the only language that Satan Knows is light.
The African legs of the skirted pink ******
and ***** angels began to write the first acoustic
gori of the kitchen, if a cat, a machine,
****** and a fear of violence, I am waiting
for the nth equation as the excursions
are Compulsory they do. They found themselves
in the car that limits old corn ****** in their circles.

Georgia has a bad image about the start
of the third type. Sweet woman
with the baby, Barbie gives our little
friends curiosity the content, what *******
you want to put in the foreground,
you need a yellow sock that *******
materializes your daughter to obtain
what were not fat food ******
and the left side of the cross. NIMH;
a dog falls from the sky,
the cause will give us, just as the child
was born, the son of a Blazer
to receive the song, which took off
from the chest of alchemy, alotmeans.
the fire symbol is an indication of Zor,
the second time you take a picture
of the hunting section, let the cold monster
of the animal song witness the extent
to which the dog's stomach drinks
a clue from the song of the mountain
PIG ebalnogo ****** and roads
Filled with images, remember to take
a wild garden on the road for an additional
time before artificial natural vitamins.

© ******* fish The Spanish team IP
Snooch Usitusia, the hidden day studied
the land of his sister's land, sometimes
imposing the content on the blind people;
People only see their own clothes,
the feeling that the cat of the dollar,
with the consent of the Greeks in England,
I heard the door of the rich invented
by the hand of the event, I arrived
and followed their own agreement,
in this evil from the house of the soul:
the depth of evil, the abyss. From
the window of the Mountain MARY,
Arena car, just above the devil, We,
the natural ****** and simple
language of the devil, when the star
open to the west, New Bob gets
into the ***** mental skirt.

African Cup Angelical Angel The secretary
of the rain began to accelerate the heat.
Boldly write to many Einstein's ******
and to the Indian voice who try to stick
a stick through the inspection of the immaculate
white eyes of the ******, and teeth of the desert.
This acid guarantees that the actions
of the Jews had hidden this green carpet
prophet instead of the West.                                        The middle of the night
sleeps the plastic raw material
to listen to the empty beach, the kind of cat,
the reflection of a mirror in the company,
to fear that CK is called this Revolution
is a magic weapon to destroy you, the waves
that follow a cry of; The woman was born
in random pattern recognition. Images
of the club Monogamy, Georgian Barbie
began to speak with confidence or mechanically.
Arab K Hail K Socks Japanese Ichi
More Drinking skies ****** and grams
of fat send Rimenette Wet area of ​​the dog
father's smoker Finally, he was alive.
It feels like a star that Estrella, Starcorp.
took from the hands of the local government
to convey the sensation of a slight fire
in exchange for the small M can paint
the fence. The security works in the corner
Monster and gypsy and soda, ******
and the life of prostitution on foot
of the linguistic tools of Ullamcorp.
Through the minds of mountain canyons,
crazy art ***** are buried on the left,
the image of the last page is released
"through the holes around the round".
World War Three

Hot wars aren’t effective — they fail to erase,
Too few of the people depart from this place.
And the costs are annoying — too messy, too slow
For the ****** who started this genocidal show.

That ghoul of destruction, who plans our collapse,
Who dreams of our ruin, and cackles, perhaps.
A Demon, a Maniac — not men, but pure ****
He recruited as hounds, barking “****!” at his drum.

The first step of this war: contamination —
Toxins in food as a planned operation.
The goal — generations of dumb and insane,
All trapped in illusions and drooling in pain.

For idiots die when you feed them a lie,
First scare them to panic, then kiss them goodbye.
The lie? A fake virus. The truth? Just a jab —
And the chaos is cleansed like filth from a slab.

To fuel this collapse of the world's ugly mess,
Let’s roast their poor brains with a Five-G caress.
Just "signal," they say — but the damage is clear:
You’ll cough out your lungs as it fries your last gear.

Then — chemtrails as weapons, sprayed high in the sky:
Even the strongest will choke, bleed, and die.
And “disinfection” will steam through the air —
Poison the trusting with perfumed despair.

Next — protocols for “healing,” all tweaked:
Even those who recovered — we’ll strike while they’re weak.
From old simple sickness, we'll craft a new blow —
One shot to the chest, and down they will go.

But the kingpin’s the test — it’s deceit in disguise:
You can’t **** them all without blinding their eyes.
We don’t give a **** if bananas test “hot,” —
A virus, you say? We'll say what is what.

We practiced this trick with the legend of AIDS —
Fake tests, real poison — the dead in cascades.
It forged a new Medicine, sinister-bright,
Like SS in scrubs — the same lust for the blight.

And we must place our traitors in all of the halls —
Install them in power, behind all the walls.
They search for the beasts who look human, but lack
Even hints of a soul — they smile, but attack.

They breed these vile creatures — a weapon refined,
Then push them to rise as they bribe and bind.
With rumors of virtue, they tighten the noose,
While keeping them leashed — no chance of a truce.

Demon, subhuman, and filth — that’s the trinity
Dragging the world to a slaughter divinity.
They’ve turned Earth to Hell, and the battle is lost —
We pay for our blindness. They’re counting the cost.

But the few who remain — there’s one path to embrace:
Call down the Sun’s fire — burn out this disgrace.
No matter the pain, or the fear in our chest,
Take demons with us — and give them no rest.

All subhumans will perish, and we shall return,
As Spirit awakened — let falsehoods all burn!
Death is a rumor, a trap they designed,
A lie for control — a chain for the mind.



---------------------




1.
They poison, they burn, they inject us with lies —
Then mourn the “deceased” with dead, plastic eyes.

2.
A jab, a lie, a Five-G beam —
Welcome, fool, to the butcher’s dream.

3.
The Demon smiles — the cattle kneel.
Their death is called “the greater heal.”

4.
Call down the fire, no mercy, no pause —
Burn down the beast with its venomous laws.

5.
The final war is waged through screens —
With syringes, freaks, and toxic genes.



---------------------



The Human Malfunction

A few crude parts in a rigid routine —
That’s the machine of this world, obscene.
We glimpse it all in a flash of light —
In moments of Truth. And They are the Might.

The driving force? Some hollow themes,
That shape this circus of walking dreams.
Hell, it seems, is the global plan —
Or a madhouse ruled by the idiot clan.

"You're just a body" — that's the key.
Scare them enough — and the world bows to thee.
This filthy beast has played this game
Till the Earth itself forgot its name.

Images empty, choices thin,
Stupid thoughts spinning within.
While anxiety rips through every soul —
The beast fights ***** — that's its role.

Same stupid thoughts — like a looped cassette,
Repeat till the brain’s a soaking net.
And so the "hard worker" rules by dread —
Running from truths that scream in his head.

Clutter your mind with mindless grime —
Escape the thought of your measured time,
Of the filthy larva that sets your fate —
And thus, the child learns to obey hate.

And grown-up kids — they march in hell,
Proud little scouts, taught to rebel
Against themselves by school and job,
While the zombie-screen begins to throb.

The worst of all weapons in this vile range
Is the one that makes good minds deranged.
You'll get no truth — just sly deceit
From demons smiling in your seat.

It's all fake thoughts and scattered lies,
A whirl of shards before your eyes.
The mad kaleidoscope never stops —
The filth spins faster till reason drops.

Schizophrenia. Dumbed-down brains.
The system runs on toxic chains.
Food is poisoned — so they erode
Faster and cleaner. Just give it a load.

Fake science paints this plastic realm,
With devils high upon the helm.
And Spirit erased from the master's frame —
The world became a latrine of shame.

For morons they built their holy fraud —
Religion absurd, insulting God.
Official chains on Spirit’s neck —
It’s nearly killed in this mental wreck.

Lies rule here — lies are grace,
They’re sold as progress in your face.
But Hell, not "spiritual trial", is this —
Few survive such an abyss.

“Smart” folks tinker with dead ideas,
Shifting blame to fake frontiers.
The beast must always redirect
To new scapegoats — that’s the trick.

It rules through splits, through made-up foes,
It plants division and reaps our woes.
It aims to rot the Spirit’s root —
And if we sleep — it bears no fruit.

So step outside this loop of pain.
Go inward first — through fire and strain.
Only with Truth can these plagues be healed —
The coming battle has not been sealed.

The beast is the enemy. Search for the key
To wipe this horror from all we see.
If all were in Spirit — it wouldn’t be hard.
Strengthen the Spirit. Stand on guard.



---------------------




1.
You're not a soul — just meat, they preach.
Then sell you fear. Then pull the switch.

2.
Lies spin fast in the circus of pain.
The beast calls that “a human brain.”

3.
Truth is the weapon. Spirit — the shield.
Without that fire, the world must yield.



---------------------



"Ideologies" — So-Called

These filthy “ideologies” we’re fed,
Were born from Satan’s twisted head.
They rule dumb flocks with puppet strings —
All nations fake — all fascist things.

There is a center. One dark hive,
Where every “ism” comes alive.
Their main agenda, through and through:
To castrate Souls — erase the True.

To do that, “knowledge” must be chained,
And fake “science” globally ingrained.
The Holy Spirit — gagged and torn,
The sacred gap now grows forlorn

Between what’s real — the Spirit’s flame,
And this fake world — a shadow-game.
Evil wins without one blade —
Just press of lies — and truth will fade.

Next step? Invent a newspeak tongue:
“We’re slaves to words,” said Marx once young.
It storms the mind — a brutal blast —
Until the Purest Flame won’t last.

Then numbers, metrics, “facts” galore —
Ram them down throats forevermore.
Their verbal circus, cold and sly,
Becomes the blade we live and die.

Charts, equations, pseudo-claims —
A flood of **** in data frames.
With just one gang, the world they choke —
Each “country” just a running joke.

Divide the masses, turn them wild —
Each “ideology” defiled.
They feed the mob with myths and slime —
Just whispered suggestions dressed as “mind.”

Language itself is their device,
If all foundations melt like ice.
You are a Soul — a willful breath —
Forget that truth, you march to death.

Round and round in the wheel you spin —
The system grinds your blood and skin.
Two worlds as one — both crush and flay,
Till you’re a beast with thought stripped away.

School’s been crafted by this plague —
A killing belt for soul and spark.
They mask it all with laughs and gags,
And myths of “errors” in the dark.

The worms dig deep, they drain your core,
Then toss your husk onto the floor.
And husks walk proud, with zeal they serve
The super-slavery they preserve.

The lies grow louder — now complete.
They flood the ears with sewer heat.
Only one force runs this domain —
Infernal Rule, and devil’s chain.

If you were yourself, you’d hear your soul —
Its call, its fire, would take control.
But lies infect the spirit’s well,
With “holy” chains that smell like Hell.

From speech-reality to virtual void —
One step. Then all that's true destroyed.
And with it dies what can't be typed —
That deeper channel, wordless, wiped.

This war is final — total burn.
It’s raging now. It's your turn.
Break from this beast’s degrading mold —
Stand up, resist, and fight — be bold!



---------------------




1.
They **** your mind with "noble goals" —
While slaughtering your inner Soul.

2.
Fake “truth,” fake “words,” fake “schools,” fake “light” —
The Beast calls all that “human right.”

3.
The final war is not with steel —
They **** your Spirit — make you kneel.

4.
One language, one lie, one global cage —
And you're the product of their rage.

5.
The Soul they neuter, truth they gut —
Then praise you for obeying shut.



---------------------



The Kingdom of Twisted Mirrors

A world distorted, a camp designed
To cage the soul and chain the mind —
A trap without the cheese or grace,
That holds us ‘til the end of days.

This Camp is ruled by subtle chains,
By sticky lies and ghostly pains.
Betrayal blooms, and filth is king —
They’ll **** you cheap for anything.

Their “education” trains you to kneel,
It kills your fire, breaks your will.
Fake science poisons thought and eye —
The soulless fool believes the lie.

They teach you “theories” masked as fact,
While faith is warped and truth attacked.
Religion turned to sabotage —
A bombing run on Spirit's charge.

The press? It screams distorted news,
Half-baked, hysteric, soaked in ooze.
It strengthens this unholy lie
And stokes up fear until we fry.

Propaganda’s foul, insane —
To keep the flock forever lame.
They steal the last of human joy
By feeding fear — their favorite ploy.

Politics? A rotten play.
The “opposition” feeds the fray
From the same trough as those in charge —
Who wins the vote? A circus march.

“Survival modes” are pre-designed,
Imposed like “laws” to numb the mind.
This social stress destroys the nerves,
Then blames the soul it never serves.

Nonsense floods in every stream —
You flail and drown inside the dream.
The monsters rule this foul terrain,
Where every hour oozes pain.

They need to coat your life in fear,
Until your light just disappears.
You slowly rot — a lifeless clod —
And call that ash heap “life” or “God.”

Violence? Just backup fuel
To keep the slaves forever cruel.
But most obey — their minds are ****,
And ruled by fear they won't admit.

For those who rise — the bright, the brave —
There’s force to crush and dig their grave.
Their efforts lost, their fire dimmed —
The slave’s been wired to stay unlinked.

No rebel now can build the tool
To overthrow this fascist rule.
All thought has dulled, the lights grow faint —
The minds are weak, the wills too quaint.

Degradation’s everywhere —
The wise are rare, stripped raw and bare.
Corruption reigns. The Spirit’s gone.
And traitors multiply at dawn.

Yet sellouts thrive in every hole —
Like ****** of every filthy role.
And thinner grows that sacred thread
Of Souls not bought, not wholly dead.

A human is a will, a flame —
Not some obedient, hamstered shame.
But lunatics don’t feel the cage,
They spin inside it, drunk with rage.

Survival, fear — that’s for the vile.
It doesn’t suit the thinking style.
So the agenda, all refined,
Is crafting freaks from humankind.

This Camp turned Madhouse, soaked in blood —
The genocide left scars and mud.
Now ***** walks through shattered doors —
Collapse complete. The final score.

This all belongs in History’s Pit —
In fire, in trash — just burn the ****.
No mercy left, no hope, no balm —
Just rot, decay, and toxic calm.

The Sun itself will stoke this flame —
The fire is coming — set to maim.
And fifty years ago, Some One
Pressed a dark switch and said: “We’re done.”



---------------------




1.
No cheese. Just chains.
And fear injected into brains.

2.
Truth is dead. The freaks applaud.
The madhouse crowned itself as God.

3.
They sell you fear, then sell your soul —
And call that process "civil goal."

4.
Education kills the spark.
Religion strikes the Spirit dark.

5.
Camp. Madhouse. *****. Flame.
One twisted system — same old game.



---------------------




1.
This ain’t a world — it’s a camp in disguise.
With walls made of lies and barbed-wire skies.

2.
No fences needed when minds are caged —
The Camp runs smooth, well-trained, enraged.

3.
They called it “life,” but built a cell —
And filled it with the tools of Hell.

4.
Work. Obey. Forget your name.
This is the Camp. This is the game.

5.
The map says “freedom,” the ground says “grave.”
It’s a prison in flesh — not a land for the brave.

6.
It ends not with chains, but a gentle smile —
The Camp is polite… and built to defile.

7.
A needle, a screen, and a scripted cheer —
The guards now laugh — and call it “care.”



---------------------



Survival

The main rule now is “survival” —
Through cowering, screened removal.
A contest rages in this sphere —
How to shove their filth in your ear.

How to dumb down your own herd,
To drive the Soul from its own bird.
They want subhumans — beasts that feed,
And bow to every filthy deed.

They scheme with countless tricks and lies,
Where memes replace all truths and skies.
Memes — a virus of the mind,
That eats your Spirit — leaves you blind.

Whole hordes of freaks create this slime,
They breed the mad, align the crime.
They turn us all into the herd,
To feed at troughs with silent word.

And you can **** with lies like these —
The "pandemic" showed how to seize.
Easy to **** with deceit's spear,
When every fool’s a pioneer.

The box that screams — believe it all!
Obey! Surrender! Take the fall!
The beasts then count their poison cheap —
With venom sown, the herd will sleep.

Inject the dumb with poison sweet,
Frighten with memes — they’ll bow, repeat.
They’ll gobble madness, neat and clean,
The virus of the psychotic scene.

You must invent a “problem” then,
And spread it fast among the men.
Then combat memes will hunt and **** —
To crush the minds, to break the will.

Because these beasts are all so base,
You’ll sink to that primitive place.
The wise will choke, resist, and spurn —
Into this universal burn.

A Hell for Mind and Spirit both —
This global mess, a poisoned growth.
Sold-out ****** breed endless cries —
Their psychovirus multiplies.

Soon drowned in noise and endless roar,
The world becomes that Hell once more.
This stench of lies, this rotten breath —
No barriers strong enough to death.

The point of no return is crossed —
The fascists grind us down and lost.
They drag the world into the mud,
With claws that tear, with jaws that flood.

.................
.................

But those who do not yield or break,
Their souls alive — for freedom’s sake —
Shall face the fiery, blazing gale
Of Sun’s hot wrath — the final hail.



---------------------




1.
They dumb us down, inject the lie —
Our spirits choke, but won’t comply.

2.
Memes and poison flood the brain —
The beast rules through fear and pain.

3.
Survival’s just a mask for chains —
A hell of lies that burns our veins.

4.
But those who fight, who won’t submit —
Will face the Sun’s last fiery hit.



---------------------




1.
When lies consume and shadows reign,
The final fire cleanses pain.

2.
From ash and smoke, the truth will rise —
A blazing storm against all lies.

3.
The Sun’s fierce wrath will scorch the night,
And burn away the death and blight.

4.
No cage survives the fiery flood —
The Spirit rises from the blood.



---------------------



Sandboxes

Slaves assigned to sandboxes,
Busy day and night — no rest.
Building castles out of sand,
Lost in futile, empty quests.

For their castles, paper pays —
Worthless scraps for health exchanged.
Yet the slave believes the trade —
“A fair exchange,” his mind arranged.

From childhood dumb and hungry —
The cross of generations’ grief.
Much more filth invades his brain —
The slave just feeds on false belief.

He loves his handouts most of all —
Cheap tricks, two-in-one deceit.
Two-in-one is crap and slime —
His diet’s been that crap to eat.

All is poisoned — food and drink,
Spirit crushed, mind locked away.
But instead of fight, he moans and shrinks —
Year by year, decay holds sway.

He envies only dumbed-down beasts,
Who sold their souls for scraps so thin.
And built a hellish, filthy mess —
A prison tight to trap us in.

For only madness will hold fast
This shattered world in cement cast.
The slave will fuel the insane feast —
Thus reigns the plague that won’t cease.

The wise few left must understand —
In sandbox waits the final sting.
Unite your strength, make your stand —
The final hour’s on the wing.



---------------------




1.
Slaves build castles made of sand,
Trading health for worthless hand.

2.
Poisoned food, a poisoned mind —
Trapped in madness, blind and blind.

3.
Madness binds the broken world,
While slaves’ bleak fate is slowly twirled.

4.
Last call’s coming — break the chain,
Or drown forever in the pain.



---------------------




1.
Hell’s prison built on lies and sand,
Where slaves are shackled, chained by hand.

2.
Trapped inside this fiery cell,
A living hell — a private hell.

3.
They forged the cage from pain and greed,
A hellish trap where none are freed.

4.
In this **** pit, the lost remain —
Forever bound in Hell’s domain.


---------------------



The Path

"Someone spotted fruit unripe, unripe,
Shook the tree — it fell, it fell...
Here’s a song of one who failed to ripe,
Who had a voice but did not tell."
— Vladimir Vysotsky, "Interrupted Flight," 1973


Don’t pity yourself — not once, not ever.
Seek Freedom’s Path; all else is never.
Though few remain — dull herds that roam —
We’ll break free from this beastly dome.

Fate here is trap and tangled strife,
You’re often lone — despair is rife.
Good efforts wasted, works undone —
This world’s a sewer — filth’s the sum.

That filth, disguised as “wisdom’s peak,”
Leads only to decline, so bleak.
Nature’s patience long since fled,
And God abandoned this foul shed.

Choose always paths where you resist the Evil,
In struggle, something’s won, no mere upheaval.
No effort wasted where the Fire burns —
The Spirit never from the Flame returns.

Strengthen your Spirit — fortresses rise
Where beasts can’t breach, no weak disguise.
That ****’s all base, devoid of soul,
Only Spirit rules the cosmic whole.

Develop intellect — reject all lies.
Mountains of deceit before your eyes.
Test all you hear — don’t carry crosses blind —
Slaves bear burdens; free souls free their mind.

Slaves bear crosses, but Spirit’s lead
Lights up the one bright path ahead.
Though traitors swarm — vile beastly throng —
Stay far from them; they do no wrong.

Trust always your intuition’s call,
For mind without it is weak and small.
With it, destroy all fears and lies —
Intuition’s message Spirit supplies.

Find comrades wise and spiritually sound —
Others are dead, no life is found.
Diminish ego, or else you’ll see
Alone we’re weak, but joined we’re free.

There’s nothing here to praise, not even you —
This Hell incarnate — shame and filth in view.
So join the fight — last stand is near,
While Spirit’s flame burns bright and clear.

This battle’s not a brute assault,
No mindless charge or violent fault.
Seek out a way where Spirit’s might
Strikes with precision — sharp and light.

Let blows be subtle, not brute force —
Sharpen all skills for war’s harsh course.
You’re no weakling — Spirit makes you giant —
Cowards spin as hamsters, compliant.

Victory will be ours to claim,
When best unite to burn this flame.
The years of slavery disappear,
You’ll rise no longer bound by fear.



---------------------




1.
Don’t bow to fate, don’t waste your breath —
Fight for your Spirit, fight to death.

2.
The herd is dumb, the world is Hell —
Break chains, escape this cursed cell.

3.
Trust your gut — the mind alone
Is weak and lost, abandoned, thrown.

4.
The fight’s not brute, but sharp and true —
Spirit strikes — and cuts right through.

5.
Victory waits where brave unite —
To burn the years of slave’s night.



---------------------



Pre-Thoughts

Tastes and morals —
Like pre-thoughts —
Are poisons brewed:
The mind they rot.

And everything imposed —
Your own thoughts few and thin:
A dulled, obedient world —
No spark, no fire within.

So mind is sick and failing here —
If you don’t think alone,
You’ll need a “guru” to believe,
A master set in stone.

These “gurus” mass-produced,
Like lies they shove and sell.
Thus soullessness and filth abound —
Earth turned into Hell.

Morality’s a falsehood —
Slavery’s patience, all the rules.
Tastes imposed by ruling **** —
Desires trapped like hamsters’ fools.

Dumbing down’s the beastmen’s goal —
Trust nothing, that’s the creed.
Consumption’s sickness, lies abound —
Fascism feeds their greed.

Learn once more to think with courage,
Intuition’s path is true.
Though hardships pile like mountains vast —
At first, the world’s askew.

Strengthen Spirit — you’re Essence pure.
Forget all that you’ve known since youth.
All here is poisoned — even “need,”
And teachers? Dumb fools speaking untruth.



---------------------



Shipwreck

"That day the captain was called ‘you’ —
The skipper matched the young in skill,
Straightening backs and tearing binds,
Mad sailors raged along the hill."
— Vladimir Vysotsky, "Ballad of the Abandoned Ship," 1970

No captain here, but beasts in crew —
Exceptions rare in this foul fleet.
They won’t stand tall, won’t heal the wounds —
All lies, like drunks in vile defeat.

No minds remain — the dumbness storm
Has snapped the fragile “roofs” away.
Our ship leans hard — it’s nearly lost,
And rats among us run astray.

No sight of shores where free men dwell —
Ships run on fear and lies alone.
The whip’s the food that rulers sell,
Their power’s meal on grinding stone.

Those happy days have fled for good,
When purpose drove our every move.
Now lone we sail the raging flood —
The sea’s name is Decay’s dark groove.

We curse the weather, fate, and chance,
Distracted from our fatal role.
If so — soon all will lose the dance —
Like lambs, we march toward the knoll.

We lie as one, enabling vile,
Betraying all for empty gain.
We serve the horned Goat’s cruel smile,
And **** our souls to feed his reign.

Forgotten are the roots, the core:
You’re not a slave, but Spirit bright.
Like lambs to slaughter, goats implore —
Is this our bitter, woeful plight?

We cannot unite — just endless moan,
Our second name: the dirge, the groan.
In brains a fog, one blank erasure —
We’ve long since lost our own true nature.

The icons of dark Satanism
Are everywhere — the signs reveal.
On money’s cross we’re crucified —
False promises conceal the deal.

We teach our kids to lie with grace,
**** sparks of talent in their eyes.
We fill their minds with mirage’s face —
A galley’s chain beneath the skies.

The worthy here are hunted beasts —
We **** them all without remorse.
If sensitive, count down your lease —
Few live long on this dark course.

Few leave a blazing, lasting trace,
That helps the next who’ll walk the line.
In seas of lies and deep disgrace,
A faint trail fades beyond all time.

No miracle will lift us up,
No gentle tide will bring us peace.
We’ve long ceased being ourselves —
Decay’s vast sea will never cease.

If seas of shame and filth prevail,
Poseidon brings the final wreck.
The Earth itself stands ‘gainst us all —
Decay has driven her to check.

So comes the “End of History” near —
For sins we all will pay the price.
Plain words say: disaster’s clear —
We’ve all been fools — and paid the price.



---------------------




1.
No captain leads — just beasts on board,
A sinking ship, a world ignored.

2.
We lie and serve the horned Goat’s reign,
Our souls sold out, consumed by pain.

3.
Decay rules seas and Earth alike —
The end is near, the final strike.

4.
Few leave a spark, most fade to dust —
In lies and filth, betray our trust.

5.
The truth is drowned by lies and shame —
We’re all to blame, we fuel the flame.



---------------------



Defoliants

Chemical war’s long hailed a friend —
“Safe,” “harmless,” science claims again.
A simple mask for harm to blend —
No danger here, no cause for pain!

Leaves burn away, then vanish fast —
A poison gone in just a flash.
This science wise? No fool can trust —
The traitors lie, the **** still clash.

And women bear no children now —
The foes spin lies, their twisted play.
But “ours” don’t **** — they vow somehow
To guard our health, come what may.

They guard our health, this great charade —
Fake viruses spread like smoke.
The “scholars” justify the raid —
The villains hooked on lies they spoke.

No chemical bombs we need today —
Just fools and lies will do the job.
“Health protection” is their play —
Hybrid war with a deadly mob.

We’ll **** them all with “health” and care —
A twisted fate beyond compare.



---------------------




1.
Chemical war’s a clean disguise —
They poison with their masked lies.

2.
No bombs needed, just false “care,”
Health kills silent everywhere.

3.
Lies breed death in hybrid fight —
Truth’s the spark, ignite the night.

4.
Fools believe the science lies,
While poison spreads and freedom dies.



---------------------



The Ache of Withering in This “World”

The ache of withering in this “world,”
If even just a spark of mind,
Grows wider every year it’s hurled —
And grinds your spirit down, confined.

The soul’s slow ****** is the madness,
Where all together rot and fade.
Add biting sarcasm’s gladness —
And press the body in the shade.

Add sensitivity — then hell
Will grip you in this cursed place:
No skin beneath the Moloch’s spell,
Wish foes to stay — eternal disgrace.

No trial worse than that awaits,
Hard to invent in hell’s domain.
Though hell, as always, tortures, hates —
Multiplies the madness’ reign.

The foes are thick-skinned beasts, heartless,
For long they’ve played their wicked part.
They spread their filth so artlessly,
You’ll float like logs — deadwood in dark.

And logs surround us everywhere —
In forests, life and light abound.
But in this mad and cursed snare,
The thinner you — the more you’re bound.

By madmen’s logs that crush your soul
Till all your sanity is spent.
Among the logs, the worst control —
The Judas ones — they wait, hell-bent.

Betrayal’s now a paid routine,
Corruption’s like the grains of sand.
Among the logs — the fools and fiends —
Despair will surely **** your stand.

Despair breeds sickness, drunkenness,
Depression, death — best learn it fast,
So fewer fall into the mess,
Less sacrifice the Fates will cast.

If fewer fall, your Spirit grows —
Creative fire will light the way —
Till you don’t fall to slaughter’s throes
And vanish with the crowd’s decay.

So many ways to **** the soul —
The simplest trick’s just ******’s blade.
In this hell where Satan plays God’s role,
Since childhood we in rot are laid.

Fight and create — this sole escape,
To save your soul from hell’s cruel hand.
And one day God will call the tape,
When Sun will burn out every strand.

The cleansing, firing, testing flame —
That’s what awaits us all ahead.
Spirit is measure, hope, and aim —
Walk only Spirit’s path instead.

Before they **** us in the pens,
Where shame and world’s disgrace conspire,
Where lies and fear, like deadly dens,
Make sickness rule with cruel fire.

The ache of withering in this “world” —
Is dread if sickness seems so slight.
A paper target in a field
Of evil attacks day and night.



---------------------




1.
The world decays, the spirit dies,
A paper target ‘neath dark skies.

2.
Despair breeds rot, the soul’s slow ****,
In madness trapped, we bend our will.

3.
Logs crush the weak, the Judas waits,
While evil rules and seals our fates.

4.
Fight, create — or drown in hell,
Only Spirit can break the spell.



---------------------




1.
This cursed world’s a rotting pit —
Your soul’s the prey, they’ll crush and split.

2.
Judas logs will grind you down,
In this hell where fools all drown.

3.
Despair is poison, death’s slow friend —
Resist or perish in the end.

4.
Madness rules — the spirit’s chains,
Break free, or drown in endless pains.



---------------------



The Path

The old world’s ended — now ahead,
A hellish camp of pain and dread.
Few roads remain for fighters true,
So many traps await your view.

You must grasp all this fiery Hell,
And seek the way to break its spell.
Long ruled by vile, inhuman **** —
A way to fight must then become.


We all must unite, build from scratch,
A world anew, no strings to catch.
No worthy cause remains today —
Or else you’ll fade like worms away.


The world’s fascism crushes lice,
History shows its ruthless vice.
Cast off your apathy, your shame —
Only honor, reason, claim.

Expose the lies, tear off the mask,
Reveal the pus where shadows bask.
Spread truth wherever you have breath —
This fight is one that beats back death.


The bitter truth’s bright torch must burn,
From ashes, build and then return.
No worthy cause remains today —
Or else you’ll fade like worms away.


Create new ways, new clans to rise,
Of reason’s last survivors wise.
No fascist fiend can **** them all,
If ideas break the wicked’s thrall.

Autonomy — the core, the key,
To starve the fiends’ corruption spree.
The sprouts of freedom will emerge,
And bloodless wars the **** will purge.


In clans united, we shall stand,
And build a world from ****** land.
No worthy cause remains today —
Or else you’ll fade like worms away.


Freedom’s above all else we prize —
Without it, life’s a hollow guise.
We must protect its fragile seed,
And nurture every vital need.

Then from the ground, we build again —
The only way to break the chain.
The old world’s noose tight ‘round the neck —
But Sovereigns’ will cannot be wrecked.


We must become Sovereigns all,
And from the ruins build the wall.
No worthy cause remains today —
Or else you’ll fade like worms away.


So let us rise and build our fate —
Foundations strong for triumph great!
The devils’ feast will break apart,
And cesspools dry of poison’s art.



---------------------



The Path

The old world’s dead — ahead, a hellish cage,
A death camp looming, fueled by hate and rage.
Few roads remain for those who dare to fight,
A twisted maze of shadows, pain, and blight.

You must confront this Hell that’s ruled by fiends,
Find weapons sharp to tear apart their schemes.
Long tyrants spat their poison, cold and vile —
It’s time to strike and shatter all their guile.


Unite, rise up! Build all from scratch again!
No more weak causes, no more silent pain.
You’ll rot like vermin if you play it safe —
The worm’s fate waits for those who fear the grave.


Worldwide fascists stomp like cruel machines,
History’s blood-soaked pages paint their scenes.
Shake off the numbness, rage and take your stand —
With honor, reason blazing in your hand.

Expose their lies, tear open festering sores,
Spread truth like fire through their rotten floors.
This fight is urgent — no more wasted breath —
Stand fierce, stand strong, fight back against your death.


Carry the torch of bitter, blazing truth!
Build new worlds from ashes, reclaim your youth!
No cause remains worth less than life itself —
Or you’ll rot slowly on a worm’s dark shelf.


Create new clans — strongholds for minds unchained,
Where fascist **** and vipers won’t remain.
Autonomy’s the weapon we will wield,
To starve their hunger, make their towers yield.

Freedom’s seedlings rise through scorched, cracked ground,
Bloodless battle cries will shake their hounds.

Together in clans we’ll stand, unbreakable,
From ****** soil, rise fierce and capable.
No cause remains worth less than life itself —
Or you’ll rot slowly on a worm’s dark shelf.


Freedom’s our crown, our last and greatest prize —
Without it, all is hollow, dead disguise.
Protect its flame, defend it with your soul —
Or face the dark abyss of lost control.

From rubble’s grave, we’ll build anew, reborn,
Break every chain, face down the coming storm.
The old world’s noose strangles the weak and blind —
But Sovereigns’ wills will shatter and unwind.


We must become the Sovereigns, fierce and proud,
Raise up our voices, strong and clear and loud.
No cause remains worth less than life itself —
Or you’ll rot slowly on a worm’s dark shelf.


Rise up, unite! Construct our fate with fire,
Foundations strong, forged in the rage of ire!
The devil’s feast will crumble and decay —
The cesspools burn — their poison swept away.



---------------------



The Path

Old world’s dead — death camp’s all that’s left,
Fight or rot as vermin, stripped and cleft.
Sovereigns rise — no chains, no lies, no shame,
Burn their cesspools down — ignite the flame!



---------------------



To Nowhere...

Here’s the first — the only king,
All the rest? Just flies that cling.
Golden mean’s not meant for us —
No good cause to pause or fuss.

Walk your path — no one awaits,
Step on heads — that’s how it’s made.
Boldness rules, the brazen sham —
Only gutsy **** can cram.

Nature? We don’t give a **** —
No mother here, just ruthless land.
A field to fight, collect your state,
No mercy waits — it’s all too late.

Big shot in this filthy town,
First foul beast with crooked crown.
All the middling crawl in slime,
Drowned and soaked in grime and crime.

No first place — that means you’re lost,
Nerves are tight, the stakes are tossed.
Grab the biggest chunk and fight,
General’s way — crush left and right.

Smaller bite? Then you’re the pawn,
Step aside, your time is gone.
Feet are wiped upon your face,
You’re a dog without a place.

Mammon’s god, his grip is tight,
World’s for sinners, dark as night.
Lower **** must bite and scratch,
No respect for pomp and batch.

"True books" men? We don’t comply —
Trash them, burn, and say goodbye.
Only scraps on garbage piles,
Aggression is our style.

First in line to get the blow —
Universe’s harshest show.
Thinking’s lost amid attacks,
Dust you’ll gather on your tracks.

Half a century past the dawn,
Energy beams fired on.
Into sun, trembling freak —
Sun grows fierce year after week.

Cows don’t **** that blazing heat,
When it burns, no trick or cheat.
No guns, gold, power, or "first" —
You’re the biggest fool, accursed.

All the canned beasts — dust and rust,
Crumbled to ash, and turned to dust.
A new pure world will rise above,
Where Hell is gone — but not the shove.

Too many turned to foul disease,
Lost their souls, no chance to please.
Servile dogs in final age,
Dragging out this cursed stage.

Spirit life will come at last,
Only few will stand steadfast.
**** returns to hell anew —
If the path leads only through —

To Nowhere...



---------------------



To Nowhere

One king rules, the rest are flies,
In this world of fools and lies.
Step on heads — no time to care,
Only brazen **** get there.

Nature’s just a ruthless stage,
No mother, only rage.
Grind the weak beneath your heel,
Only madness here is real.

Fools fight over scraps and dust,
Power fades — betray your trust.
Sun burns hotter, time runs out —
All your guns will fail, no doubt.

Canned beasts turn to ash and smoke,
New world born from all this choke.
Few will rise when Hell is done —
Spirit wins, the fight is won.

**** returns to burning flame,
If the path’s to nowhere — shame.



---------------------



To Nowhere

Here reigns but one true king —
The rest are flies that crawl and sting.
No middle ground for us to find,
No pause, no cause to stay behind.

Step on heads, crush, and climb,
The brazen **** will rule this time.
Nature’s not a gentle mother,
Just battlegrounds and states of bother.

The first lad of the village, foul and mean,
Commands a “land” of sludge unseen.
No strength, no honor — just the fight
For scraps in darkness, out of sight.

If you grasp the largest slice,
You’re general cold, no mercy twice.
Small pieces mean you’re cast away,
Trampled, scorned, a dog’s dismay.

Mammon reigns as chief god here,
This world’s not fit for those sincere.
The **** below will bite and crawl,
And “true” bookworms — we’ll shun them all.

Aggression, brashness — all we’ve got,
The weakest trapped, forever caught.
Our world’s a target — chaos rife,
No peace or quiet in this life.

Gather ashes, bury deep —
This fight is death, no soul to keep.
The Spirit, Mind — cast out, dismissed,
Lost beneath the endless mist.

A spark was sent half-century past,
Into the Sun’s core burning fast.
The Sun grows fiercer every year —
No gun, no wealth will save you here.

You’re just a fool, first of your kind,
A canned beast trapped inside his mind.
All will crumble into dust,
A new world rises from the rust.

Though harsh and cruel, it must be so —
No place here for the rotten foe.
Too many **** have lost their grace,
Just dogs left to end the race.

Only few will walk the light,
When Hell gives way to Spirit’s might.
The **** returns to flame and pain,
If all roads lead to nowhere — shame.



---------------------



To Nowhere

Only one king here rules the throne,
The rest are flies, just flesh and bone.
No golden mean, no room to rest,
Step on heads — only the brash are blessed.

Nature’s no mother, just the pit,
A ruthless game — no room to quit.
The village king, a filthy rat,
Rules the dump — and that is that.

No spine to straighten, no wounds to heal,
Just drunk on lies, all fake and real.
Our ship’s sinking, rats run wild,
No shores for the free, just fools and exiles.

It’s all a fight for scraps and power,
Mammon’s gods run every hour.
True souls cast out, left to rot,
This cesspool world — a living blot.

Bite the hand above you, fight the chains,
No “holy books” — just filthy stains.
Only trash thrives in this abyss,
The strong get crushed, the weak dismiss.

Aggression’s law, the only way,
Soft ones caught and thrown away.
Ashes gather, burial’s near,
Spirit lost to endless fear.

A spark shot straight to the burning sun,
Half a century — and still not done.
The sun’s a furnace, burning fast,
No gun, no gold — your time won’t last.

You’re fool supreme, canned and sealed,
Destined for dust, your fate revealed.
A new pure world will rise in fire,
**** cast out — no more liar.

Only few will cross that light,
The rest condemned to endless night.
**** returns to Hell’s domain,
If all roads lead to nowhere — pain.



---------------------



To Nowhere

Only one king commands this hell,
The rest just flies in endless hell.
No golden middle — none, no cause,
Step on heads — only shameless claws.

Nature’s no mother, just a pit,
A ruthless game where none shall quit.
Village king — a stinking rat,
Rules the filth, and that is that.

No spine to straighten, wounds ignored,
Drowned in lies, the truth’s deplored.
Our ship sinks fast, rats flee the deck,
No free shores left, just chains and wreck.

Scraps and power — all they fight for,
Mammon’s gods demand much more.
True souls discarded, left to rot,
This cesspool world — a putrid blot.

Bite the higher hand that feeds,
Holy books? Just lies and weeds.
Only trash survives this pit,
Strong get crushed, the weak submit.

Aggression’s law, the only way,
Soft ones caught, then thrown away.
Ashes pile, the end is near,
Spirit lost to endless fear.

A spark shot straight to burning sun,
Half a century — the race’s run.
Sun’s a furnace, blazing high,
No gun, no gold, just doomed to die.

You’re fool supreme, canned and sealed,
Fated for dust, your fate revealed.
A new pure world will rise in flame,
**** cast out — no room for shame.

Only few will cross that light,
The rest condemned to endless night.
**** returns to Hell’s domain,
If all roads lead to nowhere — pain.



---------------------



The Idiotic Foundations of Society’s Rot

The idiotic roots of this society’s decay:
Violence, lies from internet trash heaps’ spray;
Factories built to break and rearrange
The minds of slaves — “education” breeds the strange.

Artificial woes — constant worry grown,
As if beneath each step an explosive’s sown.
No life remains — just endless dread and fear,
Where terror rules and sanity’s unclear.

For frightened mice, foul poison slips with ease,
Disguised as cures, designed to displease.
False crises fuel the tyrant’s game,
Binding chains of slavery through evil’s name.

Ignorance made science, endlessly refined —
To study how to keep the slave confined,
How to weaken minds, dumb down the whole,
And crush the spirit, enslave the soul.

Research institutes of ruin work non-stop,
Where demons rule, and Satan’s on top.
Their ****** parade as nation’s pride,
While truth is crushed and justice died.

The vile parasites reap power and pay,
They crown their puppets, puppets obey.
The devil’s servants fill the halls,
The world descends into darkness’ falls.

The Overton Window — their slow-cook trap,
Boiling frogs with water’s cold slap.
Result: beasts and ****, not men remain,
Ready to devour all that’s sane.

For those who think, for minds sharp and bright,
There’s prisons, asylums, dead of night.
Only lies and chaos get their spin,
The link to Spirit cut clean within.

The wise and good now count but few,
And many fall ‘cause horror grew.
They see the rot, the plague, the blight,
And no longer wait for dawn’s light.

But this worldwide *****’s house will burn,
This plague of madness we must spurn.
For Mind and Spirit bring true pain
To those who hold them — Hell to drain.



---------------------



Into the Vastness

Poems fly out into space,
Everything else is just trash —
Vanity, pride, and false face,
With little fire to flash.

If you tailor words for the crowd,
Will readers truly hear?
They’ll lie through verse so loud —
Truth’s rare, and sharpness feared.

To praise a crooked lie’s the law,
“Love” the hollow song.
Slaves can’t love — and that’s the flaw,
The masses singing wrong.

When you bring alarm and rage,
Success won’t come your way.
Only few see past the cage,
When madness rules the day.

The sold-out fools defend their lies,
Dumbed by poison “truth,”
Their knowledge fake, their spirit dies,
A ruin in its youth.

If you strike at this deceit,
Your verse must cut and bite.
No asking for applause or sweet
Attention in the fight.

Don’t trust, don’t whine, don’t fear,
Nor plead for sympathy.
Cleanse your mind with blood and sear
The verse’s energy.

A filthy devil sits on high —
No justice in his court.
Poems sent to space? Or why
Dig trenches for the thought?

Most write only shameless drivel —
“Love” rotting in the pit,
Becoming nonsense, lies that swivel
To madness, full and lit.

Poems fly... perhaps to hell,
Another ****** domain.
I do not grieve nor dwell,
I smash the filth and stain.

Again the beast crucifies,
Spewing nonsense to the herd.
A new poem now will rise —
I don’t care, no word.

Whether crushed or praised by fools,
Art has its twisted ways.
If you don’t rage against their rules,
Your days are dull malaise.

Waste your time in futile toil,
But find a spark to guide.
In this brutal world’s turmoil,
Truth’s a flame inside.

A grain of truth is triumph’s key,
Half-truths breed the fiends.
Worse than liars craft the spree —
Poisons in the streams.

Soon this earth’s a hellish place,
Sent back to dust and fire.
The sun will burn the vile disgrace,
Consume all the mire.

So sold-out voices mean no more,
False pride blocks the mind.
Let your poem bravely soar —
No limits, no confines.

Fly on, poem. No matter where
Your flight may find its rest.
If you reach the bold who dare —
You’ll never be suppressed.



---------------------



The Deadly Storm of Pseudo-Science Lies

I studied math — a proof I made,
So now I watch with wary eyes
The deadly storm where falsehoods braid:
The flood of pseudo-science lies.

They pay their “scholars” fat rewards —
Not for the light of truth’s embrace.
Instead, they push fake worlds to hordes,
A nagging, endless, toxic chase.

The dull charade that kills the mind,
Forgets the Spirit, tortures Soul —
Madness “gifted” by the blind,
A circus with a deadly role.

Pseudo-science casts its spells,
Like shamans clumsy and untrained.
“Science proved it!” everyone yells —
In fake lands, fools remain chained.

But proofs they claim so brazenly
Are lies, a cruel mockery.
The gullible believe so easily,
Blind to the fraud’s perversity.

A shining example, the “sheep virus,”
Madness pushed to the brink.
From “science” comes just mental circus,
Sarcasm’s lost, it cannot think.

Manipulating common mind —
The goal of all this false pretense.
A race to trap all humankind,
And strand the world on ignorance.

These “tech” that **** the Soul within,
Destroy the Earth from core to rim.
Like lice upon a rotting skin,
Humans scratch, but Earth is grim.

And lice can be burned away,
If Earth’s own wisdom wakes to fight.
The sun’s fierce fire will have its way —
And humans burn like moths in light.

Is Earth’s own Consciousness in lies?
No place for truth in this foul game.
These selling fiends with practiced ties,
Are trained to lie without shame.

Is man a Spirit, pure and free,
Or just flesh’s tiny part?
No, only petty tasks you see —
A slave who begs with empty heart.

Believe in none, re-learn the whole,
The world anew, with Spirit’s guide.
Planned dulling of the global soul —
“Science” serves the dark’s dark side.

The forces at the Sun and Earth,
Lift worlds to Spirit’s higher plane.
The Sun will burn corruption’s girth,
Lice consumed, pure truth will reign.

Discard the false god science made —
It leads to hell with lies and rot.
Multiply your Spirit’s aid —
Escape this stench before it’s got.



---------------------



The Crushing Storm of Pseudo-Science Lies

I cracked the code — a theorem proved,
Now watch the plague that blinds the mind:
A lethal flood of lies, unmoved,
By truth — just poison intertwined.

They pay these “scientists” in heaps,
Not for wisdom’s piercing light,
But for spinning fake-*** heaps
Of nonsense forced on us — outright.

A circus dull, that kills the soul,
Forgot the Spirit, crushed the Mind.
Madness stamped as “truth” — their goal,
A plague for fools, mankind confined.

Pseudo-shamans chant their spells,
Dumb frauds wrapped in lab coats’ lies.
“Science proved it!” — cult that sells
Its poison to gullible eyes.

Their “proofs” are lies, grotesque frauds,
Mockery wrapped in fake degrees.
The gullible lap up these clods —
Blind slaves to manufactured disease.

The sheep-virus — peak of crap,
Madness pushed beyond all bounds.
Science? Just a mind collapse,
Sarcasm drowned beneath the sounds.

They puppeteer our common sense —
Their goal: to trap and drag us down,
A race to wreck the whole **** fence,
To drag the world through filth and drown.

Their “technology” kills the soul,
Poisons Earth’s body, scars the land.
Humans swarm like lice control,
******* life with filthy hands.

But lice can burn when Earth awakes,
The sun ignites a cleansing fire.
When heat is real, the falsehood breaks,
Humans die — mere moths in pyre.

Earth’s true Consciousness crushed by lies?
No room for truth in hell’s domain.
These sellout ******* wear disguise,
Spewing lies that choke and chain.

Man’s a Spirit? Hell no — just meat,
A slave to crumbs, dumb and betrayed.
The petty tasks that keep you beat —
Begging scraps as life decayed.

Don’t trust a thing, relearn your world,
Awake your Spirit, fight the plague.
This mass dumb-down’s been tightly twirled —
“Science” serves the devil’s plague.

The cosmic forces, sun and Earth,
Will raise us to the Spirit’s throne.
The sun will scorch corruption’s girth —
Burn lice to ash, restore the known.

Trash the science idol false —
It drags us down to hell’s abyss.
Only Spirit’s strength repels
This stench and rot — salvation’s kiss.



---------------------



The Ruinous Gale of Pseudo-Science Lies

I studied math, theorems proved,
Yet watch this storm that blinds all thought —
A gale of lies from falsehoods moved,
Where truth is drowned and reason caught.

They pay these “scientists” in coins,
Not for the light of true insight,
But for a world of crafted *****,
Where falsehood reigns and darkens sight.

A theater of soulless acts,
Where spirit’s flame is smothered deep.
Madness wears the guise of facts,
And drags the soul into its keep.

Pseudo-shamans cast their spells,
Clad in robes of fake renown,
Claiming truths as worn-out shells,
While wisdom’s voice is crushed and drowned.

The proofs they parade — mere sham,
A brazen mockery on display.
Yet man, so prone to flimsy scam,
Gives credence to their foul play.

The sheep-virus of lies evolved,
Madness pushed beyond all bounds.
“Science” here — a mind dissolved,
Sarcasm silenced by the sounds.

They manipulate collective mind —
Their purpose: bind us in their chain,
A contest cruel and so unkind,
To sink the world in endless pain.

Their “progress” kills the very soul,
Pollutes the earth, defiles the air.
Humanity reduced to roles
Of lice, ignored and stripped bare.

But Earth is not a silent slave,
Her consciousness will soon arise,
The sun will burn away the grave —
And purify the false disguise.

Is there a place for truth in lies?
No room within this shattered sphere.
These hired liars wear thin guise,
Their deception bred in fear.

Is man a spirit or mere flesh,
A pawn to crumbs, dumb and confined?
The petty tasks, the endless mesh —
Of slaves to gifts that dull the mind.

Reject all lies, reclaim your sight,
Awaken spirit, seek the true.
Though darkness dims the fading light,
The path remains for those who do.

The cosmic pulse that beats in suns,
Will lift us from this mortal cage.
The fire burns where falsehood runs,
A cleansing blaze to end the age.

Cast down the idols falsely crowned,
Lest you be dragged to hell’s domain.
Only spirit’s strength is found,
To break the chains and heal the pain.



---------------------



The Devouring Gale of False Science

I traced the threads of logic’s weave,
Proved truths that time cannot undo—
Yet see this tempest minds deceive,
A gale of lies that blinds what’s true.

These “scholars” paid in empty gold,
Not for the flame of insight’s light,
But to weave webs, dark and cold,
And cloak the world in endless night.

A theater of soulless screams,
Where spirit’s breath is crushed to dust,
Madness cloaked in science’s dreams,
Chains forged from fear, deceit, and rust.

False prophets chant their hollow spells,
Sorcerers of sham and guise,
Claiming knowledge — but darkness dwells
Behind the mask of their disguise.

Their proofs—a cruel and artful lie,
Mocking reason, scorned and torn,
While gullible souls comply,
Feeding lies till hope is worn.

A viral plague of sheep and shame,
Where madness spreads unchecked and wild.
“Science” here, a hollow name,
A poison subtle and reviled.

They bend the mind’s collective core,
To forge a cage from fear and pain,
A game to drag us evermore
Into a void devoid of gain.

Their “progress” kills the soul’s deep seed,
Pollutes the earth, suffocates the air.
Humanity, a crawling breed,
Like lice that multiply in despair.

But Earth itself, a living soul,
Will rise in fire to purge the blight,
The sun’s fierce heart will sear and roll,
Burning falsehood into light.

Is there truth left within this lie?
No sacred place within this tomb.
Deceivers reign beneath the sky,
Their reign a veil of endless gloom.

Is man a spark of spirit’s flame,
Or slave to crumbs that numb and bind?
A puppet lost in mortal shame,
Drowned in gifts that dull the mind.

Awake! Reject the poisoned stream,
Reclaim the light that’s truly yours.
Though shadows smother every dream,
The spirit’s path endures, endures.

The pulse of suns, the cosmic breath,
Will lift us from this cage of clay.
Through fire, through chaos, even death—
The spirit finds its sovereign way.

Cast down false idols crowned in lies,
Lest you be dragged to hell’s abyss.
Only the soul that dares to rise
Can break these chains and reclaim bliss.



---------------------



The Devouring Gale of False Science

I traced the sacred lines of thought,
Unveiled the truths that time begets—
Yet now the world is caught, distraught,
In lies that bind like tightening nets.

These “scientists,” bought and sold,
Not seekers of the Light within,
But merchants of a darkness cold,
Spreading falsehoods, seeds of sin.

A theatre where souls are crushed,
Where Spirit’s breath is torn away,
Madness dressed in reason’s brush,
Chains forged in deceit and clay.

False priests chant arcane incantations,
Sorcerers with empty hands,
Claiming science as salvation—
Yet they sow the blackest strands.

Their proofs are cruel blasphemy,
A mockery of mortal minds.
Blind devotion breeds the plague,
And reason withers, lost, confined.

A viral herd of soulless sheep,
Madness roaring unchecked and wild.
False science digs a grave too deep,
The poisoned chalice, bitter and defiled.

They warp the minds of all mankind,
A cage constructed out of dread.
The soul’s bright flame, they seek to bind,
And drown in lies the path ahead.

Their progress kills the sacred spark,
Poisons earth, corrupts the sky.
Humans crawl, blind in the dark,
Like lice on corpses, doomed to die.

But Earth—she holds a living fire,
A core that burns with truth’s fierce breath,
The sun will rise with purging pyre,
To burn the lies and wake from death.

Is there a soul within this lie?
A temple in this house of shame?
Deceivers reign beneath the sky,
But Spirit’s light remains aflame.

Is man a mere machine of flesh,
Or Spirit’s child, divine and free?
Or just a slave to hollow flesh,
Dulled by gifts that blind and bleed?

Awake! Break free from chains that bind,
Reclaim the sacred spark inside.
Though shadows crawl and tempests blind,
The Spirit’s path shall still abide.

The pulse of suns, the cosmic breath,
Will lift us from this mortal hell.
Through fire, through chaos, even death—
The soul will rise, it will rebel.

Cast down the idols forged in lies,
Lest you be dragged to endless night.
Only the soul that dares to rise
Can shatter chains and claim the Light.

So fight, reclaim your inner throne,
Beyond the veil of lies and scorn.
For in that flame you stand alone—
Yet from that flame, a world is born.



---------------------



The Devouring Gale of False Science

I traced the sacred lines of thought,
Unveiled the truths that time begets—
Yet now the world is caught, distraught,
In lies that bind like tightening nets.

False prophets clad in shadows’ veil,
Mouthpieces of the void’s cold breath—
Their science is a cursed grail,
A chalice brimming with slow death.

These “scientists,” by darkness led,
Are sorcerers of the abyss,
Whispering to the living dead,
Selling souls in silent hiss.

A theatre of broken minds,
Where Spirit’s flame is doused and chained,
Madness dances, fate unkind,
On thrones of ashes, crowned and stained.

They weave their spells with twisted tongues,
Incantations forged in lies,
As ancient cosmic song is wrung
To birth the serpent’s cruel disguise.

Their proofs—a mockery profane,
Veils hiding the abyss below.
The faithful drink the venomed bane,
Blind shepherds led where shadows grow.

A viral herd, a plague of thought,
Madness roaring unchecked and wild.
False science crafts the abyssal plot,
The poison chalice, bitter and defiled.

They warp the mind’s eternal light,
Forge cages from despair and dread,
Bind the soul in endless night,
Where hope is drowned, and spirit bled.

Their progress feeds on sacred flame,
Poisons earth, defiles the sky,
Humanity, lost in the game,
Like lice on corpses doomed to die.

Yet deep beneath the darkened veil,
A primal fire still burns bright—
The sun, a forge beyond the pale,
Will purge the shadows with its light.

Is there a soul behind the mask?
A beacon in this house of shame?
Though deceivers weave their task,
The Spirit’s flame remains untamed.

Are we but dust and fleeting breath,
Or children of eternal fire?
Slaves of flesh, resigned to death,
Or bearers of the soul’s desire?

Awake! Break chains that bind your core,
Reclaim the sacred spark within.
Through storms, through darkness evermore,
The Spirit’s path will still begin.

The pulse of suns, the cosmic breath,
Draw us from the void’s deep hell.
Through fire, through chaos, even death—
The soul will rise, will break the spell.

Cast down the idols forged in lies,
Lest darkness drag you to its lair.
Only souls who dare to rise
Can shatter night and claim the air.

So fight—the battle’s spirit-thrall—
Beyond the veil, beyond the scorn.
From that pure flame, a new world calls,
Born in the fire, reborn, reborn.



---------------------



The Infernal Gale of False Science

I sought the sacred geometry of thought,
Unveiling Truth’s eternal flame—
Yet here the world is darkly caught,
By serpents cloaked in Science’s name.

False priests of Void, the shadowed choir,
Invoke the abyss with whispered lies,
Their alchemy—corruption’s fire—
A chalice brimmed with soul’s demise.

They weave black spells with poisoned breath,
The shaman’s mask on blinded eyes.
Each “proof” a lie that dances death,
While spirit’s sacred flame denies.

The cosmos mourns in silent grief,
The Dance of Light turned into scorn.
Madness reigns beyond belief,
On thrones where ashes crown the torn.

They bind the mind with chains unseen,
Incantations of decay—
And drown the Spirit’s vital sheen
In shadows cast by falsehood’s sway.

A viral plague of empty thought,
Madness roars its bitter cry.
The abyss with poison wrought,
Beneath the sun’s eternal sky.

They desecrate the sacred earth,
Defile the heavens’ radiant gold.
Humanity, bereft of worth,
Like lice on corpses, weak and cold.

Yet deeper than the darkest night,
The primal fire still burns within—
The Sun, the Great Awakening Light,
Will cleanse the false, destroy the sin.

Is there a soul beneath the dust?
A spark to pierce this veil of pain?
Or slaves to flesh, consumed by rust,
Bound tight within the liar’s chain?

Awake, O child of ancient fire!
Break free the cage that dims your sight.
Through shadowed realms and hellish pyre,
The Spirit calls to endless light.

The cosmic pulse, the starry breath,
Draws forth from darkness, from the fall.
Through death, through chaos, through the death—
The soul will rise beyond the thrall.

Tear down the idols forged in lies,
False gods of flesh and empty dreams.
Only those who dare to rise
Can pierce the night with sacred beams.

The ancient Guardians of the Flame,
Watch from realms beyond the veil.
Their silent wisdom calls your name,
To walk the path where Truth prevails.

The Phoenix rises from the ash,
The Dragon sleeps within your core.
Through trials dark and cosmic clash,
Your Spirit soars forevermore.

So fight—the battle is within—
A war of shadows, fire, and light.
From depths below to heights unseen,
Born in the sacred eternal fight.
sandra wyllie Feb 2020
meetings.
I told him no. He thought
I should go. What I needed was
backyards and slides,

sandboxes with grass
growing inside. I just needed
ropes with logs
that you could climb. I only

needed a warm face
looking through
the glass
happily, surprised.

— The End —