they
worship themselves for they hate creation
they
cannot buy or own the real wealth
that from before our time
was gifted to all for free
love consummated consciousness
gifting everlasting meaning and truth and beauty
all that poison they could not let be
what we cannot create let us own and twist and destroy
and destroy and twist
and appropriate without mercy..
so they covet their dark mythologies as with stones and paper
and soon the cbdc
all to accumulate ever more barren wasteland treasure
and even as their tightening fists atrophy and lose circulation
they may not have noticed their own clotting systems
and what a supreme irony for these draining and damning magicians
these violators
these inverters of meaning and creation..
they
laugh hollowly and mockingly at the success of their rolling deceptions
all those machinations weaved
all their sacrificial deluded medalled minions dangling
all their oh-so-clever thefts and poisonings and false histories
all their monetised bread and circus distractions and campaigns
all the fear
all the terror and trauma
all the stultification
all the theft
all the division
all the misdirection
all the misery..
yet perhaps they weep
they only bow before themselves so perhaps they weep
ruling only for thousands of years
is a figment within a speck
their bloodlines will vanish
be vanquished with extreme prejudice in less than one blink..
but will all the suffering inflicted be revealed
acknowledged and released
how can the dead be healed
what kind of justice will be done
what kind of justice has been done
why so often does justice remain to be seen..
the pendulum must swing
the witness transmits and receives
the flow stores and records
and if the cosmos is conscious greater consciousness knows
perhaps down here in this dense realm
the deeper truths remain crushed
was it ever different..
so though in every-which-way
they hold for us the deepest unfathomable hate
much of which must be self-projection
looking out and over all their spoils
sabering their champagne
what do they see and say to themselves
i for one am thankful i am not them
for though i have achieved little i can have restful sleep
and that is its own precious gift..
it seems we have not reached our aims quite yet
so let us roll out the next project..
for some reason we have not quite had our fill
our appetites not quite yet quenched
we need to work out what is missing
it is not within ourselves..
the real elite perhaps too lost to weep
rage against mysterious flitting messengers hatcheting their dreams
all their slaves that have given them everything
everything except salved souls
souls and minds so utterly deformed utterly degenerated
with perversions so base you would not believe it..
so demolished and corrupted and blinded
is there still time for them
do they ever dare gaze into their own devolved monster eyes
do they ever raise their sight upward beyond their reigning
do they ever glimpse so much as a flash of fleeting pure golden-silver light
do they ever say perhaps there is another way
perhaps there is still time..
what else must we take
despite our predation
there is still far too much love and empathy out there
despite all we have taken and all we have done
there is still so much love and empathy
and mercy
out there
what have we got wrong..
we have not quite eviscerated the infernal rebelling creation
how do these unswerving rebel-lines generationally remain so strong
to what mysterious invisible power do they believe they belong
and how on earth in their eyes does this power manifest..
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