Righteous vs. Devilish: The sin of man’s freedom
Hate hate hate. Vitriole, fire, envy, lust upon lust of the devouring skin animals. To be rid of the flesh, to arise a new mammal, animus, deity of infamy that takes rein of the fledgling centurion. Awaiting heaven’s gate with locke and key in hand. Eerie tales wrapping around cupped ears tom peeping at the mother’s door.
Secrets, lies, more stories of fleeting importance fluttering down the manifold staircases; can you catch a hold of it? No not I says the wandering piper that lies in the wake of the sickly spurious settlers. Villagers of defiant nature twiddling thumbs that wag of disapproval and tasteless condemnation. Oh, who are the saintly ones that measure up to glorified standards? Who be the ones who equal our divine wishes in an era of hedonist debauchery that lick and lash at moral fibres?
In this epoch, you, the one who hastens to lie and slander, are the only angel among the fornicating innumerous demons populating the higher strata. The age old battle replaying anon. Again and again the forks clash the spears, the tails and wings duel at let there be light arrival. What has time to do with victory? What has victory to do with the play of happiness ever ready for collection?
We the lesser know not what to do when the upper echelons fail us. When the over and above lose faith and face thus prohibiting our ascendance. No more of lost shams turned to shambles, the eternal play of the wicked versus the just that tickles at our ears in comical cartoon fashion. No more of dangling paradise like so much mistletoe. Reach out for salvation and unearthly satisfaction.
Whether tis fortune that we borrow a heart to fulfill the saintly duty or suffer at the hands of spiteful failure. It is to writ that we endeavor to make amends of our wistful tattered souls.
Predator is the New Black
Lecherous old men salivating over young bodices.
Index of sexual arousals and all the right curves.
Parabolas of physical allure making the temptation complete.
Hounds of hooting and panting demeanour lapping up sensuous coquettish vibes.
The fairer sex tending to themselves, putting up with drooling animalia eyeing every move, bend and curve.
Must tolerate and endeavour the leers and howls of nearby wolves tearing at innocence and gnashing away at the wounded fawns.
White knights dwindling in the era of the gentlemen turned jackal.
Sniffing out weakness of the desperate searchers looking for the sword and shield.
Peers are utter disappointment, no hope for simpering Hydes.
All the pompous peacocks looking for the gilded prize.
Triple seven for the jackpot, copulation always on the mind.
Chivalry is antiquated, just a blot in history books.
Morality on a sliding scale, forked demons out to play in the guise of Dorian Gray.
Tasting everything and nothing, never lasting indulgences.
Never enough for the jackals, baring teeth at rising desires when the curvy lasses pass on by.
Philosophy of Might: Battle of the Pointless
Cyclical dementia at the button of warheads.
Battered and beaten fish sticks made of refugee kids.
Rolled up and spun cotton candy collateral damage.
Follies and foils of fighting mismanaged.
Manage; the chaos flux of post-war wrap up, do your duty then leave a megaton of shit.
The killing fields that makes it real, slabs of bodies making vista horror shows.
Macabre merry-go-rounds standing still, rooted cadavers soon to be plucked.
Heroes and purple hearts flourishing in the aftermath, forget the stiffs that sacrificed.
Golden rule on dead ears, vicarious generals and politicians throwing jeers, living on borrowed time from the general infantry.
Makers and shakers signing away death sentences with flicks of the wrist and wry smiles on their lips.
These nefarious plans coming to fruition and who but the next gen must pay for them.
Sinking in revenge for something they didn’t do, undone by slighted youth in revolt.
The brainwashed bystanders viewing unearthly destruction, sights burned into memory never to be cleaned.
Scars so deep, psyche cracks on the way turning sour on ripe youth.
Counterclock oranges babbling vendettas of uprooted hate. Longstanding quarrels coming out of the dingy cave.
Never forget on bitter tongues soaking in curses and violent verses.
Who told them of righteous revenge? Who taught them of vile retaliation?
The pedantic pedagogues of sickly warmongering, tongue-lashing serpents with scales of golden hue.
They say they know the secret word from their tainted point of view.
The book of promises turns to ashen debt.
New kids on the bazaar must pay their blood dues.
No chance for a life, soldiers of misfortune, call of duty desert babes.