Ученье свет?

Ученье свет?

Ученье — свет,
Потом чуть свет —
И на работу:
Внушили глупые заботы
Во время этой ОБРАБОТКИ,
Цель коей — производство пробки,
Которой дыры затыкают.
В раздрызге мир — его латают
Послушным ТВАРЯМ матерьялом,
В котором мысль почти пропала.
Нагрузят память сильно — мысли
Под этим прессом вмиг провисли
И падают в Гнилую Бездну
Мирка тупого. И исчезнут
В конце учения у многих,
Ведь школа — кузница убогих.



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Suckers

Sucker,
Tougher—
Like a treat
For sharks to eat.



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Baudelaire sought Evil’s root,
But found flowers on his route.
If you choose a half-way stand,
Fake delights will take your hand.

Trapped in beauty, dull and vain,
Fools like these are not so few—
Praised in print and schools again,
Held as models—yet untrue.



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Drab and grim, a life unreal,
Pouring salt with holy zeal,
Calling poison sacred balm—
Year by year, it stings more harm.



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The Poet’s Path Today

No aid in sight, while censors grow,
More ruthless, bolder than before.
Few humans left—just skins on show,
Each year more rotten to the core.

They wrote in drawers. Now, in the net,
It’s just the same—a silent fate.
True bards are lost in waves of dreck,
And verse is worthless in Bedlam’s state.

War, CowID—both made it plain:
Only fierce verse can strike and sting,
To show how low the fools remain,
Enslaved beneath the yoke of sin.



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"Too much preaching," some may say...
But I write for me alone—
Young and honest, no display,
Fragile nerves aren't made of stone.



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To evil bowed, a fool obeys,
A madman scribbling hollow lays.
Just pour me vodka—make it strong,
The world’s gone mad, it won’t be long.



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Dream and Wake

Once again, the dome stayed sealed,
And I’m falling like a stone.
Dreams have passed—deceit revealed,
Cheap and hollow, madmen grown.

Yet no fall—there’s nowhere deeper,
Hell is knocking from below.
Lies are drowning all—still steeper,
Sinking fast in endless woe.