THIS ROAD
Is longer than the tearing teeth of ticking TIME,
And stores a sharper slash than Satan’s searing sword.
“OUR MEN” have lit our lives with the darkness of their lies,
And dug up hellish holes designed for us to crash!
THIS ROAD
Is heaving with the heavy stench of fallen men,
And the constant wail of women trapped in woes.
The dragging screech of chained-up feet, is Nursery Rhyme
To children born to burn,
In unholy flames,
As they tote the troubled Cross
That crushed
Their fathers’ sold-out souls!
SEE “OUR FAILING MEN”
Falling off their moral mountains:
Tore in tortured shreds,
By the savage god
Of corporate Greed;
And grilled like forest game,
Into gutless ghosts,
Leaving not a limb untouched,
Of the wholesome ‘saints’ we danced
So very much
To lift so high!
SEE THEM
Coldly curled in condemned queues,
Of those lined to sign their shivering souls!
SEE THEM
Crawl before their gods,
To be culled like clueless goats,
Made to feed
The evil ‘Guardians of our Tombs’!
JUST HEAR
The sickening screams of bleeding men,
Caring not for carving pain,
Swimming through their streams of shame,
To make a grab for parceled piece
Of painted poisoned meat!
KEEP SWIMMING FAST,
You cringing sons of faithless fad,
Towards that burnt-out broken slice,
Of layered Lies,
Bundled up
In punctured promises
Piling high,
In forbidden TEMPLES
Of trashed-up dreams!
OH! HOW
The tired tales of yesteryears
So loudly hissed by sneaky snakes,
Who wear the shifty hats of ‘Seers’
Will clog your ears and crush your eyes;
‘Saving’ you from sensing out
The daily clang of Hangmen’s chains!
SMILE a little and rejoice,
Some more!
Oh you shepherded flock
Of dreamy doom;
As there is yet reason for joy,
(So much joy that drifts in Dreams!)
To make you clap and dance anew!
YOUR SACRED BLOOD
Will never flow again
In the vine less vase
Of distant gourds,
Or be wasted through a SINGLE drain
Of unknown holes
That spring from far!
BECAUSE,
THIS BLOOD will keep on flowing fast
Spurting in that ‘Sacred Sink’,
Which you toiled so hard to build
In village SCHOOLS
And far off lands!
Now matured to gulp its DUE
In the bloated burning belly
Of your slimy spineless sons
Who sign away your daily deaths
Iin dainty dollar deals,
On papers you will never see.
YES! YOUR SONS!
The same shameless stooges
Who shroud the State in Lie and Loot
And garbage themselves
In robbers’ rusty robes,
Made so FRESH in Stinking NOTES!
See them rolling deep in slime,
Struggling with the killer weight
Of cursed crosses that would crush
Every lice who lives on lies!
There is no Saving Grace
For those who have
No backward glance;
As they ply their crooked path,
On this LONG, DARK, Road
To our final man-made
Doom!