Igor Vykhovanets

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Cogs in the Mechanism of Evil

Winter

"Love is the chief means of escape from the loneliness which afflicts most men and women throughout the greater part of their lives."
— Bertrand Russell


To escape: the void within devours the soul,
In pleasures, in wealth, in love cold and constrained.
For love, fleeting warmth, cannot make one whole,
It stirs frozen blood, but leaves hearts chained.

The void is like winter; few dare to explore,
To face its chill—that is the Way.
Yet fools see love as a mystical cure,
Through fantasy hoping to keep fear at bay.



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Ideologies, or Turning Asses to Goats and Beyond...

"Every well-developed ideology is created, sustained, and perfected as a weapon of politics, not a theoretical doctrine."
— Hannah Arendt


Fools in tanks—Evil’s last refrain,
The final card to seize control.
To dream of triumph, think again:
Turn an ass into a goat to reach the goal.

Dulling minds—a tireless task,
With lies as cherries on the cake.
Ideology’s bile seeps through the mask,
A fortress crumbles from within, to break.

Tanks will flatten lands once more,
And new strongholds will take their place.
Fresh "ideas" slam the door—
Goats will jump to fetch with grace.

Not mere goats, but goat-hounds now,
A twisted breed that faith distorts.
While lies wage wars with TNT’s vow,
The Evil’s foe dwells—it's God in Hearts.



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The mind decays, the soul feels ill,
A wretched world bends to its will,
It spews out lies of "truth" and "freedom,"
Don't touch this ruin—do not need 'em.

Seek out the few both wise and true,
To them alone your words construe.
For soon their space will shrink to none—
And lies will strike like lead from guns.



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Cogs in the Mechanism of Evil

"We all were taught a bit, somehow,
A thing or two, some way, sometime..."
It's no coincidence. Through lack,
Evil makes Horror's face sublime.

Recall a thought? It slips away—
The murk's design is razor-clear.
A bolt, a cog serves Evil's sway
More than a brute consumed by fear.

Deceit and terror grease the gears
Of Evil's mechanism well.
To depths mechanic, we've been steered,
Where sanity begins to fell.

With mind and soul both truly free,
No place for you in Hell’s domain.
There, bio-robots ceaselessly
Rebuild a camp—by fear sustained.

Its master Satan, yet his guise
Assumes God's name, as often seen.
With stunted thoughts, the spirit dies,
And you decay in No-Man's Dream.



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Stupid versification template

As if the world’s in order,
They write their lines with ease.
Yet rot has claimed this border,
Infernal its disease.

And poets, fools at heart,
Write soft, devoid of strain,
Indulging folly’s art
To make Hell feel like gain.



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The Ugly Duckling, or
The inhuman aphid
that devours the Earth

A duckling, so vile,
Yet chick-like in style,
The duckling takes flight—
The chick meets its blight.

A soup born of shame,
For the flightless, its name.
Earth’s fools, stripped of worth,
Bring disgrace to the Earth.

A pen for despair,
And Reason’s own snare,
This planet, our Earth—
For Aphids feast, for our dearth...



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War by Eating Lies

A meal,
To seal
Your hunger’s need,
Breakfast rich:
Devour Deceit.
Should you choke, your sons will dine,
Finishing the feast in strife.
Lies ferment the endless grind—
War consumes both truth and life.



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A messenger rides with heavy breath:
From Russia, Reason's fled to death.
Its double spews deceitful screams;
The honest cower, silenced dreams.



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Aimless, pointless, such a shame,
Life repeats its tired game.
No one learns, no wisdom grows,
When the world, as all it shows,
Bows to filth where reason goes.



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A switch of arrows, or
the Old clowns-politicians are to blame!

Blame is shifted, time forgotten,
In a world that's steeped in rot.
Fascist filth, its core turned rotten,
Seeks a clown to share the lot.

Old ones blamed for bygone madness,
While the fools grow rich in shame.
Power feeds on fear and sadness,
Wisdom finds no space to claim.



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Introspection, or the Alchemy of the Soul

To probe into despair—
A task beyond compare—
For fools, it’s just confusion.
Yet mock no such intrusion,

For sorrow is a guide:
It whispers, far and wide,
"Since birth, you’ve been a pawn,
A slave till light has dawned."

The soul, confined and battered,
In anguish, sinks and shatters.
A feeble mind enchains
Itself with endless pains.

But wonder lies in peering
Within, through truth’s engineering:
Inspect the layers of lies,
A clearer path will rise.

And there, you might uncover,
Deceptions to recover.
The Alchemy of Soul—
Embrace it, make it whole!



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Spying Plague

From Windows, let us part—farewell!
A spying plague, a living hell.
Their “updates” always bring distress—
For monsters, more info is less.

And gone’s the interface, so neat,
That “Seven” offered—truly sweet.
The user’s now a shadowed prey,
A “compromising” case to slay.

They’ll shape him into number six,
Through schemes and endless, sneaky tricks.
Such “updates” pave a wicked path:
Degradation, wrath by wrath.

And spying? Merely just a slice.
Dulling minds—that’s their device.
For beasts to rule and power claim,
While cowards live without a name.



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Adieu!

Defying fools? A senseless strain—
Fools are masters of the gain.
But guard your will, stand firm, stay true,
And bid those fools a grave adieu!



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Soulless Hacks

"No soul dwells in you, sirs—thus no literature emerges."
—Vasily Rozanov


These soulless, wretched creatures
Preach “love” in every line.
Fate throws their empty features
At us—a cursed sign.

Their drivel floods each corner,
Disgusting, loud, and vain.
True souls—when calm—are warmer;
From theirs, keep far, refrain.

Stay clear of all their ramblings,
Their passions, shallow cries.
Seek only brave, unhampered
Souls where true talent lies.

A horde of hacks amasses
On poetry websites still:
The goats mislead the masses—
Such diagnosis fits the bill.



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The Downfall of a Soul in Pursuit of Wealth

"A man has worth only when he holds a view his own."
— Voltaire.


The world’s reversed: your worth’s the cash you claim,
While borrowed thoughts infest your hollow mind.
"Neurotic!"—those who think, they earn the blame,
And find themselves in filth confined.

For wealth, clear vision is a needless flaw,
A daring gaze becomes a heavy chain.
Greed shrinks the mind, corrupting all it saw,
As vulgar beasts within remain.

The youthful spark, once lit by fleeting light,
Is smothered as the years decay the soul.
And thus the fool, enmeshed in petty plight,
Becomes a slave to shallow, sordid goals.


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Changes in Hell

Hell’s population’s
Told: “To Heaven, rise!”
Fools burst with elation,
Cheer and feast their eyes.

“Now believe! There’s choice!”
Between wrong and worse—
Fish or meat your voice,
Be a goat or horse.

Hell’s inhabitants
Build a “Brand-New Heaven”—
Towers, walls immense,
Rebuilt, rebroken, even.

Concrete walls enclose
Madhouse, prison, room.
Change is all that shows,
Sodom turns to doom.

Gomorrah’s new disguise—
Madness cloaks the wise.
Flip-flops soon arise—
Chaos never dies.

Every twist distorts,
Worse than what's before,
Waste as fools contort—
"Progress" counts no more.

Then call “progress” loss;
Backwards is the way.
Pressure’s crushing force—
Lies weigh more each day.

Ideas there hold sway,
Weapons sharp as knives.
Easier to slay
Than untangle lives.

Hell’s population’s
On a steeper slope,
To the depths of nations
Where no barriers cope.

Idiots lead the way,
Fueled by thicker lies.
Not long now—decay
Blooms where demons rise.



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The wheel of wretched life turns fast,
No stopping it, the die is cast.
The weak, like slugs, are crushed with ease,
While lies disguise it all as peace.

"The Care" is now the sacred guise,
A fetish veiled in hollow cries.
Fools believe the tales they’re fed,
So silence reigns where thought has fled.



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"The Freedom of Choice"

Between some crap, much worse, and worse,
Your "choice" is offered, gift or curse.
When Hell’s abyss becomes the stage,
They dress it up with softer rage.

The choices gleam, a polished lie,
Each hyped as something rare and high.
Then all the filth is stirred anew—
And poured straight into souls like glue.



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Ah, a wretched little world:
No lessons are unfurled.
Betrayal, lies, and greed—
Its only reigning creed.



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"Freedom of speech"—a hollow word,
A decoration, naught but show:
Just glitter on a cage for bird,
Like frosting on a cake of woe...



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All poems are located at address http://vykhovanets.yzz.me

I can make web application, website or game. Рortfolio http://vykhovanets.yzz.me/pf
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