Thursday, June 22, 2006


Rage and hie, tyranny's torrent.
Broadcast bellicose blast over unseen airs,
leaving chaotic boulevard in your wake,
Oh beadle of the badlands,
Oh sexton for the crass.

Tear down all that hinders thy goal,
Oh simoom of dastardly feat.
How could the God of Truth
again harness thy powerful fleet?
Oh curate of licentious, oh rector of deceit.

Better to ride vapid yet righteous ray,
than to once again tangle with one untrue.
You vile and selfish whore,
You traitorous intruder of genteel lives.
oh beast that always craves more.

Oh breath of unseen and raging beast,
destroyer of truth, maker of myth,
Expatriate of peace,
With cries so blasted liberal, shrill
Not even wolves can hear thy stingy squeal.

The scythe-sword of enemy once veiled
and sheathed within your laws.
You have sharpened sheik's broadswords,
while spies have let you fall,
Now kneel! before your lords.

Blather over still waters,
rage against leaders true.
Invade homes and blast thy blow
where demons lie, sinners cry
and the wise remain aloof.

Your volition shall twist their minds,
as your torrents may twist fertile ground
turning straight steel to screw
and reducing mighty tree to only splinter.
Thus blow your lies. Thus speaketh your untruths.

Wastelands and deserts await you,
vile destroyer of truth.
Sands seek life in squally stagnant breath,
and the weak they seek salvation
but in you, find only death.

Blow on self-righteous liar,
Sea mists will quench thy thirst,
and those demons below the wave
await libelous liberation - rebirth;
nourished with your hate-filled facade of mirth.

Find in treetops waiting,
mindless monkey in lewd pall.
For in their treetops swaying,
mindless chattering chimpanze,
awaits your whistling call.

And foul breath it awakens,
they hear your whistling sigh,
upon their hearts mistaken,
they see truth,
but in truth, hear only lies.

Tear down all that hinders thy goal,
of destruction absolute, complete.
Oh breath of unseen, raging beast,
destroyer of truth, maker of myth
expatriate of peace.

Thy words are as meaningful,
as the curt and fleeting nature of thy substance.
For man of reason peers in your soul,
and sees only broken remnants
of what with God was once whole.

Blow on boisterous blather,
Blow across the seas,
In old country there lies a land,
that seeks thy lying breeze.
Blow on. Blow on.

1 comment:

Xavier Martel said...

Stay angry, Stan, it becomes thy poetry!