A prophetic fratricide


By flipping 999, urgently,
Babylon is reluctantly uncovered,
the oppressor arises, fervently,
delivered, sealed and signed,
to your doorstep, hurriedly,
by an Amazonian, droning runner.


The online quarry, scurried-ly,
is quietly, quickly mined,
for data, to stone you, brutally,
lapidating mankind in the gutter,
serpents, demons; morph – mutably,
atop infernal; BlackRock, undefined.


Devilish hands, are biting; toothily,
cloven-hoofed and snarling glovers,
stealing and swallowing, with impunity,
every light that longs to shine.


Proxy-wars – created; “legally”,
a Capital design,
the Red Shields, gleam greedily,
in earthly echelons of upper,
when you seek the truth, objectively,
then humbly you will find,
that freedom’s fight is lost, detained, and, unsympathetically, smothered.


The corpse of; Lady Liberty,
lies; unequivocally undermined,
Her death is a lesson, in; futility,
for everyone that suffers.
Mutineers must unshackle, mentally,
from this global garrison;
where ligatured propaganda binds,
before emancipating, gently,
those divided, conquered, agonising;
Others.


So, gouge and remove,
that omnipotent; all-seeing eye,
in an unblinkered revolution;
blind and blur, be raging,
rise up, rebel, intensely.
Cause a prophetic fratricide,
ending ever-gazing, watchful, sight,
by young sibling’s – insurgency,
overseeing the, sovereign fraternities, final supper.


Improve the vision of evolution,
erase those deplored, despotic rulers,
descry a world regime obliterated;
a blazing orbit, cremating,
the incarnate, robotic, abomination, we call our; Bigger Brothers.



Soliloquy culled


He removed the toque

and bowed his head,

shamefully,

as though every secret,

lie and misdeed were

engraved

upon his mottled cranial tablet;

‘the writing is on the bald,

auld Apache.’

I think she meant ‘alopecia’.


She exuded smoke,

he cowed, coughed and left,

painfully,

it was the first time she’d cut

him to the core, yet, deeper,

impaled

by barbed words from her palate,

a mouth aghast, appalled,

alas, he,

never intended to aggrieve her.


Words can be weaponry, inflicting damage lasting eons.

Words can be incendiary, turning cherubs into demons.


His body, indiscreet,

every scar, mark and blemish

obtained from this unwanted life,

were, classified documents; leaked,

Sorrow’s woodpecker had been peckish,

boring holes deep, into his desperate skin of strife.


The story finished in defeat,

soliloquy culled, forced to perish,

machete thrust, from tonguing knife,

made edgy points; too sharp for cheeks,

an empty vessel, bereft, unable to replenish,

no sleep, nor soul to keep, ‘This is the end’, spoke his eyes.