To the Artist

Flight Upward Through the Stench of Lies

A balloon—its breath is fire,
Rising, piercing clouds above.
Lies, inflated ever higher,
Choke the air and poison thought.

When the space is overheated,
Soaring’s hardly ever done.
Through the haze of fraud, deceited,
None can stand the noxious scum.

What is left for those who see it?
Clean the sky, dispel the fumes!
Few persist and don’t retreat in
Foul oppression’s toxic gloom.

They must forge new wings for flying,
Find a path beyond the vile—
They can’t breathe where filth is thriving,
Where the swindlers only smile.



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The Full Cycle of Sorrow

Etched in scars, the grief runs deep,
Woven in a pattern steep.
In my mind—fierce wrath and spite
For the liars, for the Night.



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"Come and get it, prices dropping!
What a deal—no need for shopping!
Quality went down instead...
Ugh, these faces—make me dread!"



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A hedgehog gets it—people don’t,
Just misery and hollow days.
They bow to scoundrels, live on lies,
While fear and nonsense spread like haze.

And Death’s the door—there’s no way out,
No better path, no grand escape.
But go ahead—believe the brutes,
And drown in madness, fear, and hate...



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"In forest depths, a rebel band"
Still guards their soul, their mind, their stand.
While filthy fascists, vile and base,
Bow down to evil—lost in disgrace.



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To the Artist

Stupidity and filth run deep—
No pastel shades, just tones that weep.
Paint it dark—no heaven’s near,
Hell won’t offer refuge here.

And if you find one—just a fool.
Light is fading, dim and cruel.
Bosch’s visions, once so grand,
Drown in lies at evil’s hand.

Madness reigns, the world’s decayed,
Critics? Judge yourself—too late.
Words are worthless, lost in time,
Drowned by tyrants in their grime...



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C’est la vie—just lies and cries,
Drowning in its blood and blindness,
If you judge with brutal kindness.



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A colony of germs, you see,
Exists through outside sway.
But fools believe the foul decree
And march to death each day.

Their minds are just a hollow shell—
A human, wise and free?
Like melting snow, where ice still fell,
Drowned deep in lunacy—
For centuries, we see...



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Madness is repeating,
Yet hoping for a change,
As fools dream of a heaven
That always stays the same.

Decay is all around us,
And failure rules the day—
Just look at daily living:
A rot that won’t decay.



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Curbing threats through “learning” and “refinement”

They sift through prose and verses,
Select them with great care—
For thoughts can be subversive
If minds are sharp, aware.

And so they preach of Shakespeare,
His lines—a lifeless drone,
While pushing local heroes,
Exalting just their own.

Each nation hails its “genius,”
A figure from the past,
And if none ever lived there—
They’ll make one up real fast.

The fools will chant and follow,
Embrace the phantom lore,
For books that break their hollow
Minds—censored evermore.

Survival beats all morals,
Who cares if Evil wins?
The wars are fought with equals,
Yet praised as noble sins.

Thus fear and lies now bind us,
Deception rules the land—
And beasts within still guide us,
Held firm in Evil’s hand.



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Pale Horse and Harlots

Corrupt and soulless cops,
Officials—leeches, slops,
Elite’s marionettes,
And politicians—pets.

The "people"? Fools, it’s clear—
Two-thirds are blind in fear.
The Pale Horse rides our way,
A debt we all must pay—
For reason torn asunder,
For vows we dragged through thunder,
For souls betrayed in slumber.



--- Total 11 poems. ---