Fraught a Lesson to be Learned

 

Fraught a Lesson to be Learned

Haunted with deaths dark desire, to rid rebellion, and erase alternate thought,

His mindless craving, transformed into a hunger, that has great misery brought.

The genocidal deeds, and malicious strokes, an exceedingly sad state of affairs,

As he constantly shifts, blame to the west, a ploy now met with deafened ears.

He lives the illusion, of the terrible lies he’s told, in their repetitive monotones,

Burdened with ongoing failures, and frustrated, by the ineptitude of his clones.

Each sour step, beset with logistical nightmares, and random rockets thrown,

Desperately clinging, onto his wild dreams, and the evil seeds, that he’s sown.

As exploited bridges, become badly broken, and the bitterness burns his heart,

The cloud of darkness, steadily swelling, as his country is slowly ripped apart.

Despondently considering, his wickedness upon Ukraine, ruthlessly begotten,

While within his rancour soul, pure malice prowls, that cannot be forgotten.

His lust for power, a toxic tumour that’s spread, now too invasive to restrain,

By fear he has recklessly inflicted, the malignant residue, that sadly remains.

His mind still fixed, in deep thought, now caught gazing, into the silver glass,

Wondering how, he’s become a sad reflection, and a mirror of the distant past.

The Glint of their Gold has Gone

 

The Glint of their Gold has Gone

The dull lustre of Russian gold, now cursed forever, in misery remains,

Haunted by the restless spirits, of the tortured, their suffering and pain.

Someone’s jewellery, that was stolen at gunpoint, by murderous thieves,

Beware of the shadow it casts, the terrible stigma, its suffering leaves.

Precious belongings, impregnated with ill fortune, of blood-stained loot,

Plundered from the dead, its dreadful provenance, a matter of dispute.

Tainted and tarnished, let the recipient beware, of misfortune it brings,

The terrible thought, that it came, from melted down watches, and rings.

Silver and gold, mined in dark cellars, and makeshift chambers of death,

From poor victims, who had been tortured, and robbed of their breath.

Dead women, and elderly, getting their gold and silver teeth wrenched,

So, a brutish lust, for perverse pleasure, and treasure could be quenched.

Don’t touch the ill-gotten Russian gold, with its unsavoury providence,

The soiled treasure that points, to the indisputable mountain of evidence.

It is bound to bring bad luck, with the wicked spells, that it now holds,

And sure to be cursed, and haunted, by the innocent lives that it sold.

As the ruthless soldiers, executed their brutal acts, time and time again,

Russian silver and gold now signify, the sadness wrought, upon Ukraine.

In the Bloody Brine of Sacrifice

 

In the Bloody Brine of Sacrifice

The ethnic minorities, are being mobilized, taken at gun point in the street,

Bound into servitude, by Putin’s empty promises, his lies and devilish deceit.

Poor young lads, who will never live to understand, the point of Putin’s war,

The reasons why their lives mean nothing, or what they’re really fighting for.

Pressganged into Putin’s rag tag army, of poor beggars, and arrant thieves,

Deemed worthless pawns, to be shattered and blown, like autumns leaves.

Cast into the frontlines, where there’ll be no returns, from this bloody war,

To pay the ultimate price, of Putin’s errant dreams, within his wicked slaw.

The generals have been instructed, there will be no retreat, or turning back,

To hold on to the last man, no matter what happens, to endure any attack.

The cannon fodder doesn’t stand a chance, there’s nowhere for them to go,

Their days are numbered, we have been told, “They haven’t got a shitshow.”

The new recruits are untrained, and they don’t know how to handle a gun,

Their chances are grim, the odds are slim, and they are sure to be overrun.

The tangled mess, of bodies torn apart, and broken tanks, is a grisly brew.

Its: Situation Normal, All Fouled Up; Or other words to that effect, SNAFU,

The boys are bound to return in body bags, or badly wounded, missing parts,

To join the throngs back home, united in desolation, with badly broken hearts.

As a terrorist state, which will exist for ages, within the depression of disdain,

And Ukraine will wear the hero’s heart, Glory to the Heroes! Glory to Ukraine!

Unearthing the Dead an Ugly Sight to See

 

Unearthing the Dead an Ugly Sight to See

Cautiously treading, within dried bloody trails, that are better not walked,

Subjected to the brutal sights hidden, of blunt trauma, better not talked!

Mass graves, warily excavated, sodden soil sifted, with shovels and spades,

Unearthing the truth, of the odious crimes, exposing bodies, badly decayed.

As the survivors, unwillingly exhumed, terrible acts, of genocide wrought,

Their minds were left languishing, down in ghastly dimensions of thought.

Unable to quell, the pungent smells, and the feelings, of gut-wrenching pain,

As the recuring visions, of victims unearthed, generated repugnance again.

The awful shock, deeply entrenched, tainting their thoughts, sadly measured,

With brave souls, badly distorted, their emotions wrung, and severely severed.

Stressed minds stunned, with utter disgust, heads haunted beyond measure,

Heavy hearts badly tortured, by the sights seen, now souls tormented forever!

The Unforgiving Piece of Work He Paints Upon the Earth

 

The Unforgiving Piece of Work He Paints Upon the Earth

Hark, the Kremlin’s bloody call, right on their threshold, a call too close to home,

While Putin now burdens, the Russian people with blame, to face the world alone.

For, he vainly attempts, to rebuild by force, the once Imperial Russian Empire of old,

Dreaming of acquiring great power, conspiring to create a personal fortune in gold.

Now tens of thousands, have been killed, and Putin’s sending out, the plea for more,

To the next waves, of boy soldiers, youngsters bound, for his heartless grip on war.

Even though one day, Putin will surely feel, the full fury, of the Russian people’s scorn,

He has started buying his soldiers, from poor mothers, well before they’ve been born.

He is bribing the peasant mums, to sell, their unborn babies’ souls, for a poultry cost,

Yes, counting his boy soldiers, before they’ve dropped, knowing their lives are lost.

Before they leave, the safety of the womb, they’re the property, of his sinful state,

As children, their young minds, will be groomed, on false pretexts, and blind hate.

And the daughters, of the state, will be vessels used, to carry on, his reckless dreams,

Their sons, will in turn, become soldiers of the state, supplying the bloody streams.

In cold comfort, behind lavish palace walls, Putin warily watches, the valley of death,

Transforming, Ukraine’s yellow peace flowers, into medals of grief, leaving people bereft.

Now the blood of Satan, is on his hands, and the burden, the weight of all the dead,

He continues his quest, contented to wear, the sallow golden crown, upon his head.

With mounting shame, born upon his foul wind, and the bitterness he has brought,

Contented, with the withered fields, of dead yellow flowers, that he has wrought.

Its time, for the mothers of the world to unite, to sanctify, the young lives they bring,

To stand against, the surrogate sins of men, to safeguard their vulnerable offspring.

To protect kids’ lives, and the lore of life, to lay men’s pointless hatred in the past,

To create a better world for their children, and heed the call, to bravely stand fast.

Render Down unto Thee the Eternal Path You Take

 

Render Down unto Thee the Eternal Path You Take

Once true heroes, uttered with unpolluted breath, the solemn truth, so fervently sought,

Beyond the realm of lies, to eternity, where they escaped, the tangled web distraught.

Now with divine wisdom lost, so soundly resting, beneath the multitude, of stars each night,

It’s rigor’s long shadow cast, from the forgotten soldier’s stones, time weary, from life’s light.

Time now wrought, by wild seasons, and the passing sun, with celestial lines, daily lit between,

And the once promised, plot of land, now covered in wildflowers, and grasses really green.

Bones resting within the madness, where bodies have rendered down, destinies unforeseen,

Right there, where restless spirits fell, in gallant sacrifice, by selfless actions, seldom seen.

And many more hearts, were transformed, by the power of Satan, as Putin called for more,

With minds too blind to realise, the desire for more, was much less, when it came to war!

As their wills were wrought, by the turmoil in their hearts, in battles that couldn’t be won,

With souls scorched, in the fires of fury, then in anger, submitting to blind hatred overrun.

Never to repent, their ungodly sins, as goodness was lost, amongst the eternally damned,

And the lives they lost in vain, the blush of blood they shed, was roughly cast upon the land.

Departing from the trail of grief, that homeward bound, left their loved ones, in its wake,

Venturing onward, into the dark eternal path, that their lost spirits, were compelled to take.

In profound sadness, where tears turned to mist, on the river Acheron, aboard Hermes ship,

Forever lost, their souls never to return, to taste life’s steadfast love, sown upon a tender lip.

There’s Wisdom in the Word

 

There’s Wisdom in the Word

While the efforts, to appease, common sense, have all fallen on deaf ears,

He continues, to fan the flames of wrath, against the awful flood of tears.

He’s turned his back, on the wisdom of the past, let caution to the wind,

Committed awful crimes, taken countless lives, in acts, he cannot rescind.

They say that the fool, is the first, to cast the stone, I guess, that it is true,

And now, that he’s cast, a mountain of stones, so much, has gone askew.

His train, has gained, great momentum, we know, he’s on, the wrong track,

But he believes, losing, is a sign of weakness, so he won’t, be turning back.

And the wicked threshold, that he has crossed, will end, in eternal pain,

But he delights in the wind, he has sown, for its reaped, a mighty hurricane.

Now casting, the destructive seeds, shall earn, the immortal wrath, of God,

Perhaps, the eternal flames, of penance, or a sudden jolt, a lightning rod.

And like, the reckless romantics, who love to sow, the evil visions of hatred,

One day, his brutal fantasies, will turn to fairy dust, inside his twisted head.

But the cogs, seem to be grinding slowly, while all the nations, reach accord,

For now, the world is anxiously waiting, for Vladimir, to fall upon his sword!

His Heart is Rotten to the Core

 

His Heart is Rotten to the Core

His comrades writhe, while they are bound, to believe, their emperor’s lies,

As he refuses, to see, beyond the glint of gold, firmly fixed, within his eyes.

While in exclusive solitude, he lives the life, of the poor people’s stolen dreams,

Eating the finest foods, with exquisite wines, deemed fit, for kings and queens.

Hiding behind, his gold crested, wrought iron gates, and solid entrance doors,

In his grand palace, of marble slabs, with towering arches, and mosaic floors.

Living like a star, in his grand imperial palace, bought on the blood of others,

Let by the heartache, sorrow, grief, and the suffering, of his surrogate mothers.

Safe, from all the wasted lives, he’s had taken, and all, the poor souls, he’s sold,

As he dreams, of having great wealth, and power, and the Midas touch of old,

Each day in Ukraine, time and again, the golden sun reveals, his damage done,

By his tanks, jets, ships, bombs, missiles, mortar, incendiary and gigantic guns.

In cities, the haunting ruins, a painful reminder, of memories that won’t leave,

A recuring woe, that wells inside, while heart-breaking images, so sadly weave.

In ignorance, the pointless quest, to rid the Ukrainian people, from their land,

The unwelcome stain of blood, of souls set free, the invaders eternally damned.

Damn the ruthless army, that raised a multitude of villages, towns, and cities,

Leaving such unsightly scenes, of streets strewn, with badly mutilated bodies.

And Putin’s scorched earth policy, a pointless pursuit, to turn the nation black,

Soon, the time will come, the tide will turn, his brutal army, will be beaten back.

And the hordes of orcs, unwelcome adversaries, will retreat, homeward bound,

Leaving lonely graves, and the blood, of their innocent victims, on the ground.

Then the boot, will be on the other foot, Tsar Putin’s prospects, will be really bleak,

And Russia’s Kremlin, will have to account, to pay, for the havoc, it has wreaked.

Stiff He Marches to a Different Tune

 

Stiff He Marches to a Different Tune

Tsar Putin, has ferreted away, a fortune, on his luxurious retreats,

While leaving, a class of people destitute, and begging, in the streets.

However, they dare not question, how the rubbles, are really spent,

And they’re too scared, to ask where, the hard-earned money went.

The people, are way too frightened, to take the old bull, by his horns,

For fear of invoking unkind retribution, and substantial thunderstorms.

With unwilling people, being bullied, then sent straight to the front,

To blindly face the fatal fire, as cannon fodder, to bear the lethal brunt.

His wealthy, privileged ruling class, ethnic Russians, enjoy the very best,

As they lead arrogant lives, of educated, caring very little, for the rest.

Across Russia, there are many restless factions, that fervently believe,

That their leaders mind, has slipped a cog, and gone away on leave.

With down beat words, forever fuelling, deep resentment of the rest,

His primeval policies, supressing simple people, leaving minds oppressed.

There’s little zest left now, in the fascist state, its socially separated,

Within the deathly silence, the FSB secret service, is vehemently hated.

The nation has been forbidden, in context, to utter, a specific word,

Even though, WAR is WAR! The people think, the prohibition is absurd.

While his toy soldiers, stiffly strut, upon the pavement, in Red Square,

All goosestepping in their stride, as they kick their toes, high in the air.

The rhetoric, Kremlin control, to dictate how, Russian youth is raised,

To breed loyal soldiers, of the state, off to war, with their future paved.

Perish the Thoughts! A World Full of Orcs!

 

Perish the Thoughts! A World Full of Orcs!

Are we to campaign, upon the earth, and take back that, that isn’t ours,

Building our lives, on the bones of revenge, our homes, and ivory towers.

With hearts, full of retribution, rage, and revenge, become blindly insane,

As we commit, hateful crimes, against each other, time, and time again.

What drives, the vengeful acts, of mankind, possessed with awful hate,

Wherein is borne, the burning desire, to exact, such awful acts, and traits.

Fracture for fracture, eye for an eye, and tooth for tooth, as Leviticus said,

As such we become uncouth, and live, with spiteful demons, in our head.

Allowing vengeful feelings, to manifest, and submit, to psychotic desires,

With fervent minds, ablaze, as God willing, we tend to Satan’s toxic fires.

Why do we wage, pointless battles, and wars, that shouldn’t be fought?

Placing trust, in strategic thinkers, political analysts, that’ve been bought!

Are we born, meek and mild, to turn our heads, offering the other cheek,

Submitting to the will of others, to be humble, and be portrayed as weak.

Ignoring the fiends, that steal our souls away, and innocence, of our youth,

And look, to the philosophers, soothsayers, or to False Profits, for the truth.

To be lorded over, held to ransom, and subjected, to their perverse abuse,

As they steal away, fruit of our labour, and continue, to tighten the noose.

No! We should stand up, and fight, for what is right, never ignore the signs,

Before, we are roughly cast, into the abyss, where the sun seldom shines.

Below in Moral Decay the Horror of it All

 

Below in Moral Decay the Horror of it All

Degenerates, bred within, the rancid pit, of demur, and decay,

The Zombies, following state run media, and the filth, they bray.

It’s depraved, mindless orcs, mobilised to fight, against humanity,

Commanded, by corrupt leaders, possessed, with senseless insanity.

Allowing their nasty beasts, to commit, vile, sexually deviant crimes,

While manufacturing, fearsome terror, within their victims’ minds.

Obsessed with war, and the perverted pleasure, of agonizing screams,

Methodically dashing, their victims hope, and destroying their dreams.

Innocent people, women, and children, subjected to, vile obscenities,

Of torture, murder, rape, massacre, and other forbidden atrocities.

A captive, lying prone and defenceless, arms bound, behind his back,

Suffering the excruciating pain, of an awful, perverted, cowardly act.

Subjected, to the bloody barbarism, of castration, with craft knife,

Then agonizing mutilation, and ruthless slaughter, by a gutless lowlife.

Standing by a world blithely watching, the explicit digital news clips,

All graphical evidence, of the cruel insanity, of this awful apocalypse.

Bearing witness, to hateful visions, that can’t be erased, from the mind.

While Ukraine, continues to be blatantly terrorised, bombed and mined.

Mustela Putorius

 

Mustela Putorius

Beware of the evil polecat, with the wicked, wicked smile,

He’s out foxed, many foxes, with his phoney, phoney guile.

While, they have earnestly tried, to read his wily poker face,

He has cleverly lulled them all, into his stony cold embrace.

Behind the dark brown bar of fur, that masks his crafty eyes,

Lurks a calculated villain, inside an extremely cunning guise.

His assurances cannot be trusted, they are full of treachery,

He’s renowned for cunning moves, and underlying trickery.

He’ll offer lots of smooth Vodka, while searching really hard,

To find your Achilles' heel, ransoming is, his Trumping card.

Beware, any incentives offered, they come at enormous cost,

Before you really know it, you’ll find, all your dreams are lost.

He’ll leave you reeling, on your own, with a drunken lurch,

While sitting, with his comrades, crowing from their perch.

So beware, the Ural Mountain wind, blowing from the east,

It is sure to bring, the evil polecat, the wicked, wicked beast.

The Seeds of Hatred

 

The Seeds of Hatred

Go plant your hatred, where it won’t grow,

Your bombs and terror, and skies Aglow.

Far from playgrounds, where children play,

Far from the apartments, far, faraway.

Not in golden fields, of wheat that grows,

Beside yellow helianthus, in vibrant rows.

Away from cathedrals, and sacred grounds,

Far from crowded streets, ‘n’ city sounds.

Not the wards, where the sick people fight,

Or busy stations, where tired travellers alight.

Nor innocent people, spellbound by dance,

Packed in theatres, in a dreamy trance.

 

Take your hatred, the smoky choking haze,

Your ruthless missiles, and loud bombs ablaze.

The waves of soldiers, floundering in the breech,

War mongering generals, ‘n’ false, false speech.

Take your army, and the misery it’s brought,

The poor young soldiers’ lives, now lost for naught.

One day you will reap, the hatred you’ve bred,

From the people bound, by the lies you’ve spread.

When will you realise, the poison of your seed,

And the dreams you’ve dreamt, can never be.

In eternity you’ll suffer, the seeds you’ve sown,

While your evil legacy, will be, forever known.

Putin’s Train Wreck

 

Putin’s Train Wreck

In the land, where dark clouds, of misinformation, fear, and acidity pall,

Blind hatred has denied him shame; and guilt, the greatest wrath of all.

Whilst some strive, to leave a legacy, a righteous mark, upon the earth,

This heartless mortal, man of Mordor, has left his shameful stain, of dearth.

Spawning, his evil lies for years, creating a multitude, of mindless minions,

Sending his soldiers out, to execute, brutal attacks, on innocent civilians.

As monumental, miscalculations, keep happening, the disasters won’t abate,

His mighty army is floundering, and the alleged EXERCISE, is running late.

The armoured battalions, are incompetent, sure to raise, a drunken thirst,

Bogged down, just like sitting ducks, while Bayraktar drones, do their worst.

The C400 anti-aircraft defence systems, can’t intercept HIMARS rockets,

The T-72 tanks keep popping their tops and jumping off their sprockets.

He’s misled the West, and all the rest, and significantly misjudged Ukraine,

And his army, of second chance misfits, have derailed, his imperial train.

Raping, torturing, dismembering, and performing, revolting crimes of war,

As they go, beyond the realms, of evil deeds, to where, there is no remorse.

Still, he continues creating contradictions, issuing unreasonable demands,

And nothing, will save his face, with the blood, of his victims, on his hands.

The Russian people, are getting restless, they’re uncertain, what to believe,

But the state-controlled media, persist, in the evil web, that they weave.

Death’s curse, is etched upon Sauron’s lips, while his puppets warn, of doom,

All eyes are fixed on the Kremlin, that will one day, feel the rockets boom.