Trumped God

To thee who appointed themselves as God,

Go looketh down upon thine own domain,

And tell thine self what thou shalt see,

For what thou shalt see will not be the truth,

As thou art but a viper with a club for a tongue,

Thine poison does works of the desecration of consecrated ground.

Thine words bludgeon those who listen to death in dishonorable fashion,

Thine vision fertilizes the fungus of greed and hatred,

Thine thoughts prove thine unholy ideals true,

Thou art but the messenger of the four horsemen,

When thou speaketh thine words of hatred to our allies,

Thou art the messenger of war,

When thou steal from thine domain,
Thou art the messenger of famine,

When thou ignorith the world’s crisis,

Thou art the messenger of pestilence,

When thou ignorith everything but listen to thine own delusions,

Thou art the messenger of death.

Poem. One is not all.

Surge forth,

You are freed;

From your chains,

From your shadows,

From your shackles.

Bring forth your;

Demons unleashed,

Angels unshackled,

Identity unfaded.

We all are unique,

Brought forth from,

Light forgotten,

Shadows unmarred,

Hells shackled down,

Heavens locked up.

Peer into the void,

Don’t let the shadows blind you,

Don’t allow the light to lead you,

We are not one,

But you are all that must be.

Poem. Cycles

A death forgotten,

Two songs lost,

Three starving and four hearts broken;

Yet hope remains,

A dream to be greater,

A wish to fix all wrongs.

But never a promise,

For death hunts for our souls,

They let none escape the cycle,

For without death-

The promise that all will end eventually,

Could we mortals truly cherish life?

Poem. Demons

Remember me,


Like thine heart,

Lost to the winter,

Dead to the summer,

Your faceless soul to be extinguished,

Your bleached blood to be used,

Your name made of ashes and dust to vanish,

Is life but a game,

A story, a song to you?

You sing, play and break our- hearts, souls, bodies and our families.

Art thou entertained with our suffering?

You black eyed monster; do you feel nothing?


Leave us savages to our devices,

To our self inflicted pain and suffering.

Poem. Legend

To thee-

The loved,

The honored,

The glorified.

Do thine thrones,

Of blood and lies,

Of bones and hate,

Of unearned reverence,

Are they comfortable?

Does thine feast of,

Gluttony for adoration,

Lust for righteousness,

Desire for prestige,

When do you feel full?

When you surround yourself with vipers?

When you leave naught but the dead?

When you gather all others than the sincere?