The Poison of False Faiths

Don't Be an Ass...

"Woe" to minds that dare to stray—
Hell and ruin come, they say.
Meek and "righteous" fools obey,
Chained by lies they can't betray.

If despair should cloud your sight,
Sin it’s not to seek delight.
Raise some hell, cause some alarm—
Live in Bedlam, safe from harm.

Fools are countless—worse than blades,
Duller minds bring darker shades.
Executioners may kill,
Idiots do greater ill.

Raised among the dull and tame,
Trapped within their sheepish game—
Chains of meekness weigh you down,
Break or sink—it's all they allow.

No good reason, no fair trial,
They will crush you in denial.
So stay alone, stay sharp, stay whole—
Or wear the ears and play the role.



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A Tiny Orchestra of Hope

The band collapsed. Its minstrel pawned
His lute to chase the sirens’ tune.
Their maestro, ragged, sick, withdrawn,
Replaced by brutes who sneer and swoon.

A grand new orchestra arose,
Conducted by a Goat of Blight.
It plays for Evil, loud and close,
In concert halls where fools delight.

Yet those who think retreat within
To seek the Sound that once was pure,
Where harmony is not a sin,
Beyond the devils’ overture.

But solitude's a heavy weight—
No servants trailing in the dust.
If rescue comes, it’s left to fate...
Yet even God has drowned in rust.

So hope is lost, and strength is spent,
No will to stomach one more scene.
Deceit and madness set the trend,
And fools are crowned as kings supreme.



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The Stench of Dull Surroundings

The fools preach lessons, dull and hollow,
Their minds as flat as their clich;s.
Their sacred texts? Not worth a swallow—
Just shoot the junk and numb the haze.

"Go vote!" they cry, "defend your rights!"
As if the cage could set you free.
The god they fear keeps fiends in sight—
A horned one grins. They bow their knees.

Their words disgust, their faces tire,
Like rotten swine in filth they play.
Yet pigs seem noble—rising higher
Than those who still resemble clay.



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The Poison of False Faiths

Don't you look—just chant the pages,
Bow and strengthen chains within.
"God's command!"—the vile contagion
Spawns its offspring: fear and sin.

Mind grows dull, and Spirit falters,
Lost in heresy's decay.
All their "truths" were pulled from altars
Built in Hell to blind and sway.

From your birth until your ending,
Trapped within this stifling haze.
Trust your soul—its voice unbending,
Not false hopes in distant days.



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Swallowing the Stench of Lies

The scum leaves marks, a bitter trace,
Having swallowed lies and waste,
Brewing chaos in its wake—
Toxic fumes that scorch and break.
Yet in ignorance, he’s blessed…



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Moscow, Unmoved by Tears

Moscow, with no tears to show,
Opened wide the doors below
To fascism's wretched roar—
Blended with stupidity’s core.



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"Wisdom"

Blockhead figured lies and spite
Can help one rise in life’s cruel fight.
With honor, mind, and pride—he'll see
A life of endless poverty.

Betrayal, too, will pave the way—
A world where flaws win every day.
Evil's power will show them all—
True wisdom’s just a clever call.



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Omnivore

The people’ll swallow, eat it all,
Always begging for some more.
Those extra bites, a tightening thrall,
Yet herds keep chewing, as before.



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Came, Saw, and... Bought

I felt good, you see—
Watched ads on TV.
What’s this? You gape at me?
Don’t you have your own spree?

Look, go on, buy it now—
You’re nearly Napoleon!
First, stack up the cash—
That’s the simple law we’re on.



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The World's Rear End

Where’s the ass-end of the world?
Now that we’ve hit rock-bottom, hurled,
It’s everywhere you look, it seems—
Only a few escape the screams.



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Behind Closed Doors

Behind closed doors, we won't remain
As humans long—then comes the pain.
They'll sweep us up, one by one,
And end the world we've come undone.

A Digital Camp is rising high,
If your mind’s still sharp, don't let it die.
Seek paths to save what can be saved—
Unite with those who haven’t caved.



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The Soulful Wounds of the Sheep

Pouring salt into the wound,
Claiming it’s iodine, too—
Old as time, yet sheep are doomed,
Believing lies as they push through.

From the pen, once shaved and shorn,
Straight to slaughter, they’re led on.
“Kindness” now is bile reborn—
The BEASTS “heal” for a reason gone.



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Variable Cloudiness

Cloudy, yet NOT changing still,
Drifting on with time’s own flow—
Endless drift, no hope to fill—
The sun’s rays are not for show.



--- Total 13 poems. ---