83 poems

The Speech returns — the Dawn of Rebirth,
Foretelling renewal upon the earth.
The Knight of Words leaves the battle's breach —
All lies in silence. The Rhythm speaks.



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The Return of Speech — Rebirth's first flame,
Heralding life in its ancient name.
The Knight of Words survives the fray —
All else is dead. Rhythm calls the Assembly.



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Speech comes home — Rebirth draws near,
Breaking silence, ending fear.
Word-Knight stands when wars all cease —
Dead is all. Rhythm holds the Peace.



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The poems find their way once more;
Such is the cycle at the core.
If you write for your own delight,
Loving rhythm, pure and bright,
Then Renaissance will fill your soul,
Driving Decadence from its role.



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Poems always find return;
Energy must wheel and turn.
Write for no one but your heart,
Let the living rhythm start,
Then a Renaissance shall rise,
While Decadence before it dies.



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Poems always circle back;
Energy stays on its track.
Write for no applause or fame,
Love the rhythm, not the name.
Then the Renaissance will grow,
Casting Decadence below.



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Back and forth.
The fool feels worth:
"If something moves, then life must grow—
Who cares if all descends below?"



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To and fro.
The mutant's glow:
"If something moves, then all is fine—
Though every step leads down the line."



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Back and forth.
The freak finds worth:
"If it is moving, it must win..."
Though every road descends to sin.



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Back and forth.
The fool is glad:
"Whatever moves can't be that bad."
Blind to the path that sinks to Night.



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Heroin and contraband.
"Loose the hounds!"—the agencies command.
Where are you now, Escobar,
To cut their profits from afar?



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Heroin. Contraband.
"Set them loose!"—the spymen command.
Where are you, Escobar,
To trim their margins from afar?



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Heroin and smuggled gold.
"Hunt!" the secret services told.
Where is Pablo Escobar,
To shrink their take, however far?



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Heroin and smuggled wares.
"Attack!" the hidden power blares.
Where are you, Escobar,
To slash their profits from afar?



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Logic builds more walls than windows

Walls rise fast where logic reigns;
Windows bloom through greater pains.
Lies preserve their rigid throne,
Built on axioms carved in stone.

Then one breach broke through the wall—
There another world stood tall:

Spirit's realm, forever free.
Trust your Heart more frequently;
Think less with the captive mind—
Save the souls that chains still bind.



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Logic builds up walls with ease;
Windows come through rarer keys.
Lies adore their grand design,
Ruled by axioms in line.

Then a crack appeared one day—
Beyond the wall another way:

Spirit's kingdom, bright and whole.
Hear your Heart before your skull;
Think less often—feel what's true,
Saving souls the chains run through.



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Logic builds more walls than light

Walls are raised with flawless skill;
Windows come against the will.
Lies defend their cold domain,
Ruled by axioms' iron chain.

Then one opening split the stone—
Not a prison... but Unknown.

There the Spirit's kingdom starts.
Trust your Heart beyond your thoughts;
Think less often—listen deep:
Thus the soul escapes its keep.



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Lies ran wild beyond all scale;
Fools were swallowed by the tale.
Lower than the deepest fall,
Still they charged—and lied to all.



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Truth was drowned in endless lies;
Fools went blind before their eyes.
Past the Bottom, crushed by fear—
Back they came with lies to spear.



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Total lies beyond all measure;
Fools embraced them as a treasure.
Beneath the Bottom fear held sway—
Still they lied and charged away.



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Lies exceeded every bound;
Fools in falsehood nearly drowned.
Fear had dragged them far below—
Yet they marched with lies in tow.



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World ; word ; moo:
Collapse into dung... moo.



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World ; whirr ; moo:
All folds into bull... poo.



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World ; murmur ; moo:
Meaning melts to muck... moo.



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World... word... moo.
Mind folds into manure.



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World ; mumble ; moo:
Then—collapse to dung. Moo...



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Round the seal the words are cast
("Global Bedlam ends at last!").
World ; word ; moo:
Collapse to muck... Moo.
At its heart—a fig of scorn.
Find the Light that you were born.



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Round the seal the legend streams:
"Bedlam ends with shattered dreams."
World ; murmur ; moo.
Everything folds into goo.
At the center—mocking sign.
Seek the Inner Light divine.



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Around the seal these words are drawn:
"Global Bedlam now is gone!"
World ; word ; moo.
All collapses into goo.
In the crest—a mocking fist.
Find the Light that can't be missed.



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Round the seal one phrase is wound:
"Bedlam's empire hits the ground."
World ; murmur ; moo:
Meaning melts to muck... moo.
At the core—a silent jeer.
See the Inner Light shine clear.



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No Cross—cry, "Full Throttle! Fly!"
Such a choice is no surprise:
Height, Freedom, Beauty—rise!



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Not the Cross—"Prop clear! Take wing!"
This choice means everything:
Height and Freedom, Beauty's spring.



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Not the Cross—but "Take to sky!"
There's a reason, and here's why:
Height. Freedom. Beauty. Fly!



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No Cross. Lift off instead.
That's the path the Spirit led:
Height. Freedom. Beauty ahead.



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No Cross—only "Full Ahead!"
Choose the open skies instead:
Height, Freedom, Beauty spread.



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The Zeroed One's no puppet made
By the screens that minds invade.
Nothing binds—and so you stay
Floating past their grim decay.

That's Nirvana: phase at zero,
Calm the current, still the flow.
While the world serves Fear and Lies,
You have reached the higher skies.



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The Empty One's no TV slave,
Not a mind they could enslave.
Owning nothing, free you roam,
Far beyond their barren home.

That is Nirvana: zero phase,
Silent current, tranquil ways.
Fear and Lies consume the earth;
You ascend to higher birth.



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Zeroed Soul—not screen-bred clay,
Not the prey they shape each day.
Nothing holds and nothing weighs;
You pass through their lifeless maze.

Zero phase—Nirvana's art,
Stillness flowing through the heart.
Fear and Lies possess the land;
You have reached a higher strand.



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Zeroed One—not media's spawn,
Not another mind withdrawn.
Nothing clings, and so you rise,
Leaving dullness to its lies.

Zero phase—Nirvana's flame;
Current quiet, none to tame.
Fear and Lies infect the earth;
You have found your second birth.



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The seal's imprint
Melts with sunset.
Sunset fades—
Off to Nothing... fool.



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The seal's last trace
Dissolves at dusk.
Dusk grows dim—
Straight into Nothing, fool.



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The seal's faint sign
Melts into night.
Night fades away—
Nothing awaits, poor wight.



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Seal fades away.
Sunset turns gray.
Darkness has won—
Nothing, moron.



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The seal's impression
Melts in the west.
Twilight grows dim—
Nothing calls, lost soul.



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The System's Error? Art alone.
Its themes—Free Spirit, Freedom shown—
Like grinding steel upon the ears
Of lackeys serving tyrant spheres.
Corruption dressed as living truth;
Freedom stolen from our youth.
Honor exiled, Reason chained,
Spirit drowned where mire has reigned.
First comes Falsehood. Then the Mire.
Last comes Horror, rising higher.
Let Art explode their murky hell—
Where devils dream and darkness dwell.



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Art—the System's fatal flaw.
Freedom, Spirit—what they abhor.
Like iron scraping hardened stone,
Such words offend the rulers' throne.
Filth disguised as normal life;
Freedom lost in endless strife.
Honor hunted, Reason sold,
Spirit buried in the cold.
Falsehood first, then murky night;
Terror crowns the final height.
Let your Art ignite the blaze—
Burn the demons' poisoned maze.



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Art's the glitch they cannot bear.
Freedom, Spirit—danger there.
Every lackey shuts his ears;
Truth's the thing a tyrant fears.
Vice parades as common sense;
Freedom dies without defense.
Honor falls and Reason bleeds;
Spirit chokes on swamp-born weeds.
Falsehood first. Then sludge and blight.
Last of all—the reign of fright.
Break their kingdom with your Art;
Tear the devils' swamp apart!



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Rebuilt. Cleansed. The excess gone.
What remains when all is done?
Just a pit where hills once stood...
Yet a Pit is not the Void.

---

Variant of the first line:
Rebuilt. Refined. The excess gone.



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Strip away what need not stay.
What's left standing anyway?
Only where the hilltops lay—
Now a pit... yet not the Void.



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Reassembly. Clearing too.
What's the remnant passing through?
Where two hills once touched the sky—
Now a pit... but not the Void.



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Clear the clutter. Build anew.
What's still left when all is through?
Just a hollow where peaks had been...
Still, no Void is found within.



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Rebuild. Remove.
What's left to prove?
A pit where hills once kissed the sky—
Yet not the Void. Not yet. Not I.



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Food of the Living Dead

Falsehood is our daily bread;
Fear pours gravy on the spread.
The Horned Idol feasts on gavvah,
Grinding crowds to ash and slaughter.



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Food of the Dead

Falsehood fills the beggar's bowl;
Fear is poured to feed the soul.
The Horned Lord devours gavvah,
Leaving common folk as cinders.



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The Dead Men's Feast

Lies are porridge, served each day;
Fear's the gravy on the tray.
Horned demons gorge on gavvah,
Turning crowds to dust and shadow.



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Food for Corpses

Lies—the porridge people eat.
Fear—the gravy on the meat.
The Horned God consumes gavvah,
Leaving nothing but the dust.



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Slugs Beneath the Salt

Life-in-Death breeds endless chains;
Blustering fools parade their brains.
Spirit withers, fed by Fear.
No false god will judge them here—
Life-in-Death itself's the lash,
Driving souls to rot and ash.

Falsehood thrives; beneath the salt
Slugs become the world's gestalt:
Fit for fools who never see
Prison bars in slavery.
If no fences meet their eyes,
They believe the prison lies;
Petty grievances they store—
Fools are hopeless to the core.

Lies repeated, Fear replayed,
Build the scaffold, blade by blade.
CowID proved the pattern true:
Vermin bowed to senseless goo.
Reason, proof, and understanding
Lead the truthful to the branding.
Endless repetition weaves
Sham "beliefs" that skin deceives.

"Progress!" cries the hungry beast,
Feeding on possession's feast.
Spirit, Reason—cast aside,
Rarely welcomed, mocked with pride.
More restrictions, laws, and fright,
More deception dressed as right;
"Safety" forged for witless minds,
Daily burdens, tighter binds.

Cause and consequence erased,
Duty turned to joyless waste;
Step by step they tunnel through,
Far below the Bottom's view,
Till both Spirit and the Mind
Leave no living trace behind.



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A worried voice cried:
"Hanging by a hair?"
"No—by a snot thread.
The Earth hangs by the hair."

---

Variant of the third line:

"No—by a strand of snot;



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An anxious voice spoke:
"By a hair you swing?"
"No—by a strand of snot.
The Earth's the fragile thing."



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A worried shout:
"By a hair?"
"No—a booger strand.
The Earth hangs there."



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A trembling voice:
"Held by a hair?"
"No—by a drop of snot.
The Earth's the one hanging there."



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Weariness draws near;
Great efforts—little here.
Lonely age remains
Pity wrapped in chains.
Do not mourn earth's dust
If your mind you trust.
All we built has cracked;
Gavvah now is lacked.
They have drained too deep—
Souls have sunk asleep.



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Weariness comes slow;
Strength has little left to show.
Lonely twilight, fading flame—
Pity always speaks the same.
Mourn not dust that turns to clay
If your mind has found its way.
Our common cause has reached collapse;
Gavvah thins as darkness wraps.
Too much life the vampires drained
Where dim awareness long has reigned.

---

Variant of the last line:
From dim minds they long enchained.



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Poker

A fool with jelly for a brain,
An ace tucked up his sleeve again;
He dreams he's Joker, wild and free,
That life's one giant poker spree.

The cardsharps always beat his hand—
Their game obeys no rules or plan.
The greatest trump they ever play
Is nonsense filling minds each day.

It's time to fleece the bloated fool,
Well-fed on slogans, taught at school.
His jelly wobbles—"What a shame!"
The sucker's cleaned out once again.

The Game rolls on from year to year;
The fog of nonsense thickens here.
Now poker spans the whole wide Earth,
For crippled minds of little worth.

The stakes? The scraps of freedom left.
The sharper smiles with practiced deftness:
He'll strip us to the final thread,
Then march us to the **New Camp** ahead.

There ends the Game—or so they claim;
The nonsense loops, forever the same.
The time has come to wake in fright—
The cardsharps cheat in open sight.

---

Variants for the last 2 lines.

Now everyone should shake with dread—
The cardsharps own the game instead!

-

It's time the sleepers understood:
The cardsharps rule for no one's good.



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Leaving Hell

Murk consumes your strength each day;
Pseudo-life just drains away.
Lies and Horror, soft yet sure,
Kill the soul they cannot cure.

Fools keep stumbling through the Night,
Copying Evil left and right.
Megatons of total Lies
Outweigh nuclear demise.

Children of a phantom land,
Trusting nonsense, march on command.
Every loudmouth hunts for bliss,
Finding chains instead of this.
Madness spreads its poisoned seed,
Growing stronger through our greed.

CowID laid bare the trend:
Resistance met its bitter end.
Only scattered hearts stood fast—
Now they're hunted, unsurpassed.
Those who dared refuse to kneel
To the Global Circus Wheel.

"Search" itself becomes control;
Truth is branded harmful to the whole.
Facts that scratch the tyrant's hide
Are called terror, cast aside.
Soon they'll comb us, one by one,
To fit the mold of **HumuSnism** done;
Anyone who guards the spark
Of thought and soul within the dark
Will be branded outcast, fraud—
Enemy of State and God.

Know this Hell before too late.
Tell Genocide: **"No!"**—don't wait.
Cast out Falsehood, cast out Dread;
Leave delirium for dead.
Seek Reality and Light
Only inward—outside, Night.

Worlds without the Mind and Spirit
Rot to filth that none inherit.
Light seeks Light by nature's law;
Filth finds filth without a flaw.
So it happens, clear and true:
Through the storm a beam breaks through—
Source-Light piercing cloud and veil.

Leave Hell's deepest pit behind.
Walk toward the Source you'll find.
Leave the Abyss—awake, arise.
Choose the Real. Open your eyes.



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At times, by nonsense overthrown,
Your path is wrapped in shade.
Stand like a mountain midst the Lies—
Drive every foulness away.



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Sometimes nonsense clouds your way,
Darkening every mile.
Stand a mountain in the Lies;
Cast the vile exile.



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Though nonsense veils your road with night,
And Falsehood fills the air,
Rise like a mountain, firm and bright—
Drive all foulness from its lair.



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When nonsense clouds your way,
Stand mountain-high in Lies.
Drive every foulness out—
Let Truth alone arise.



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The Claim

The Writers' Guild—
The Publishers' Build.
A Dreamers' Club—
Run from the Hub.
A Traitors' Ring—
Virtue's offering.
The Servants' craze—
Evil's living face.

Gaudy. Hollow.
Yet all still follow,
Chasing "God"
Or "Truth" they laud.
One regiment—
In Evil bent.
Its aim is plain:
Check Spirit's reign.

The hireling grins,
Machine-like spins.
The wise are stalled,
The just are mauled.
Lies fall like hail,
Fear fills the gale.
The media—Hell's faithful kin.

One mine alone
Is worth your soul:
The Search of Spirit.
Pan for its riches—
Then leave corruption behind.



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Greed and treason crossed all bounds;
Lies and Fear dragged spirits down.
Madness claimed their broken minds—
Lost in Darkness, none it finds.



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Venality. Greed untamed.
Lies and Fear—their souls were maimed.
Madness seized them, mind and heart—
Darkness tore their lives apart.



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Greed ran wild beyond all measure;
Falsehood was their only treasure.
Madness swallowed every spark—
Now they're vanished in the Dark.



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Greed unbound. Corruption's reign.
Lies and Fear consumed the brain.
Sense gave way to dark despair—
Nothing living lingers there.



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Greed and treason knew no scale;
Lies and Fear would never fail.
Madness took them, stark and grim—
Darkness swallowed every limb.



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The Void

The Void—the fall of Fear and Lies.
Back we go where pseudo-life still dies,
Yet awakened, clear of sight,
We shall build a world of Light.

Not a flock that blindly strays,
But one that walks in Truth's bright blaze.
Spirit joined with Reason stands—
None can break what Light commands.

Will the Living Word take form?
Perhaps... So let your courage warm.
Do not falter. Work. Create.
Think to roots—don't imitate.

Seek the Spirit's primal birth;
All else fades and has no worth.
Carry Light where souls are sealed—
Into every prisoned field.


---

Variant of the last stanza.

Seek the Spirit's primal birth;
All else is noise of little worth.
Carry Light through every wall—
To the Prison of the Soul!



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The Garden of Paradise

Gladly to Paradise I'd race—
A loyal servant of the place.
My mind, a well-programmed machine,
Believes each lie it's ever seen.

It fires nonsense, round by round,
At other fools on nearby ground;
Their minds are dulled another way—
Yet all are lost within the play.

The task of splitting hearts is done:
The world is shelved, each shelf its own.
"My filth is sweet; yours reeks," they cry—
Thus fools are sorted, shelf by shelf, to die.

Here the Scaffold, there Moloch;
Different torments never stop.
One thing binds them, everywhere:
The crowd is kept in leash by Fear.

Gladly to Paradise I'd fly.
"My foe calls it Hell," comes the reply.
"We'll build Heaven here on Earth!"
So power boasts of noble birth.

Washington and Kremlin dream
Of bright utopias, so it seems.
CowID stripped the mask away:
The healer dealt death in broad daylight.

That was merely Act the First.
Crafty beasts will make it worse.
"Care" will finish what they start—
Scaffold, Moloch, Judgment's mark.

Still they promise Paradise...
Yet Heaven lives only in their lies.

---

Variants.

Gladly to Paradise I'd flee—
So says the slave they fashioned me.

-

Gladly to Paradise I'd fly;
That's what obedient minds reply.



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The Fisherman's Song

The world's but a pond;
The catch is immense.
The baiting is Lies;
The nets—obedience.

Submit and believe.
A fish has no roar:
It's silent and dull,
So trawling is war.

Pour poison with care
Into the still lake.
Rule through fear and despair—
Call plunder "the Way."

Call shamefulness virtue;
Persuade every school:
"So always it's been—
Just water, not blood."

Old Neptune looks on.
He never need speak;
He masters the tackle—
The Lies and the Fear.

The lackey who fishes,
A creature for sale,
Will carry each order,
Both public and veiled.

One order's for minnows;
The secret decree
Is kept for the few
Who kneel at the knee.

The poison runs deep;
The pond starts to die.
Decay fills the water;
The stench floods the sky.

"Don't question foundations!"
Keep shouting, "All's well!"
You'll "save" all the children—
As supper for Hell.



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From the cold and from the need
We shall mine the gold indeed.
North. Kolyma.
Russia's lost its mind.

---

Variant of the last line:
A nation lost its mind.



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Cold and hunger, side by side—
Gold is all they'll ever find.
Northward—Kolyma.
Russia's lost its mind.



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Cold and hunger forge the gold;
That's the tale forever told.
North. Kolyma.
Madness rules Russia.



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Cold and hunger lead the way;
Gold we'll wrest from frozen clay.
North—Kolyma's claim.
Russia's gone insane.



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Cold. Hunger. Gold.
That's the story we've been sold.
North—Kolyma's frozen scar.
Russia lost itself by far.