Ego—A Blind Spot for Evil’s Play
The world revolved, but lost its thread—
The selfish soul was left for dead.
Once more it took the bait with glee,
For Evil feeds on such as these.
And since the selfish rule the game,
The beasts will triumph just the same.
Another age of dark and lies—
The “I” is but a burrowed vice.
Schools will trap you in their lair,
Then cast you out with twisted air.
A gas of lies, a toxic spell,
That kills the soul we hold so well.
Yet only Spirit lights the way,
To keep the soul from death’s decay.
The path is walked by one alone—
For ego dies where truth is sown.
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Endless Fascism
"You’re not even a pack—you’re a plague,
A virus of fascist decay.
Your hollow cheers are empty stage,
And graves lie deep beneath your way."
— Miguel de Unamuno, Fascism, 1953
Fascism returned? No, it never withdrew,
Just changed its disguise, yet its core stays the same:
A genocide blind, where the lies twist the view,
And people still live like mere pawns in the game.
Now war makes it clear—there’s no doubt left to feign,
Deception strikes hard like a shot to the head.
If reason keeps rotting, then truth won’t remain,
And masses will march where the soulless are led.
Corruption’s a mirror—a mindless display,
And war shows how deep the infection has spread.
Fascism is rising, and soon on its way
Will bring us such horrors that lies seem like bread.
Yet one final reckoning looms in the night,
A chaos so great it will shatter the maze.
The Bedlam of tyrants will drown in its blight,
For souls and for minds, it will burn through the haze.
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Mice, stay quiet—geese are bolder.
Gadgets hum as nights grow colder.
"Honk, honk, honk!"—their minds obey,
Drenched in darkness, washed away.
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Walk the path that’s truly yours!
Step astray—
Lose your way.
Follow lies,
Meet demise.
Through the smoke of Hell you tread,
If you chase what others spread.
Traps and whispers twist the mind—
Thus, the dark keeps souls confined.
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Up the stairs leading down
Children dream of rising high,
Chasing ranks that blind the eye.
Many fools have lost their way—
Climbing up where shadows stay.
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The mind like yogurt
Goulash for all,
Porridge in sight.
We’ll never fall—
Mind curdles light!
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Pol Pot's Endless Worries
Pol Pot waits no more—
There’s work to be done.
The people are poured
For a god to be won.
The idol of communism feasts and consumes,
Leaving nothing but shadows and doom.
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Urban fairy tale
Electrician foolish Ben
Brews his bitter drink again—
Wires bare, a shock to feel,
Tenants dead, all too real.
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Painting with salted cucumber
Pickled cucumber in brine,
Vodka-drinking mastermind—
Yet the picture’s far from bright,
How are fools still in sight?
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Poet on the Edge of the Abyss
A mundane sketch, a daily grind—
The breaking point is not behind.
It looms so close, so take a break,
Let heart and mind some rest partake.
Yet life’s routine is grim, severe,
A fate more cruel than storms or fear.
And in a time of hate’s cruel reign,
To sing of chores? A worse disdain.
Life’s routine—two sides the same:
A hollow grind, a crime, a shame.
Which one’s darker, who can tell?
Both reek of hopelessness and hell.
But once you rest, your soul unchained,
No peace within will be regained.
For if you’re truly one who writes,
You won’t endure the world’s mad blight.
No need to scream—your rage is moot,
The world is sick, its mind uproot.
It seeks in darkness some relief,
Yet finds no cure for its belief.
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Vigor
Heaven’s wrath? Just fools’ despair.
Life is flesh—no soul to spare.
(Keep your skin, that's all that matters!)
Worse than hell are earthly tatters.
Yet the dullards stand up tall,
Brisk and bold before the fall.
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Games of the "gods" and the fools
Tears of a "god"—he’s pathetic,
Falling down as pouring rain.
Wait a little—soon it’s drastic:
Flood will drown us all in pain.
Call it "judgment," call it "warning,"
Yet it’s just a hollow phrase.
World decayed to filth and mourning,
Wasted work in futile craze.
Wars and fake diseases breeding—
Global Madness rules the land.
Feeling’s useless, thought’s misleading,
Only sarcasm will stand.
Let’s enjoy it! On the ending
Of this wretched, doomed parade,
Hell will vanish, yet descending
To new Hell we’ll march betrayed.
Hell to Hell—the wheel is spinning,
Infernal cycles never break.
Fools won’t grasp this endless thinning—
It’s a game they call "a fate."
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Lies Genocide and Secret services
Bold-faced deception to cover the traces—
Genocide worse than a war in most cases.
Terrorist acts? Just a part of the staging—
Spooks are adept at deceit and engaging.
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Lies, but Don’t Dare
to Defile What They Praise
The lies never cease—
But dare not disturb their "sacred" beliefs.
They lead all the fools,
No shackles, no rules,
To slaughter, like sheep.
They march in too deep,
For such is their fate
When trust seals their gate.
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The Press
The printed word is filth and fraud,
The world’s a ring where fools applaud.
The heavyweight will shove away
The light and those who shun the play.
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Spinoza, a Thorn in the Flesh
"Truth stays the truth, though the crowd may deny it."
— Baruch Spinoza
Nonsense is praised, and the masses believe—
"Free is the world!"—yet they're doomed to deceive.
Truth stays in chains, left in shadows to hide,
Hard is the path to walk by its side.
Lies must be shattered, and fears cast away,
Thinking is toil—few last through the fray.
Gallows will loom for the ones who resist,
If they won’t bend or betray with a twist.
Fight against filth, though no glory remains,
Seeking no medals, rewards, nor acclaim.
Few have the will to be noble and wise—
While weakness and greed are the virtues rabble prize.
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Trashy Reads and Mindless Shows
Drown in drivel, blissfully—
Ditch your mind and live carefree.
Truth stands trembling on the brink,
Yet you'll miss it—chomp and sink.
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May the Strongest Prevail!
The strongest will win—
Or the vilest within.
The rules stay the same,
Since we play the dumb game.
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"Happiness"
Struggles falter, vain and hollow.
Strengthless crowds let evil follow.
Multiply it—what’s the score?
Fools and slaves forevermore.
"Bliss" in filth, in chains, in sorrow...
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The Casting of Clownish
Freddies for the Foolish
The "power" cast like in a frightful tale,
Cheap and shallow, truly pale.
Real terror's seen in every vulgar day,
As fools descend, they fall astray...
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All poems are located at address http://vykhovanets.yzz.me
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