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.