Pawns
A pawn won’t rise to claim the throne
Unless the Master sets the tone.
The path "upstairs" is smeared and sealed—
A truth the lowly won’t reveal.
They claw their way, they push and shove,
Yet sink in glue instead of move.
But serve the top—then wait and see,
A "rise" may come as your decree.
Yet only those within the pack
Will get a shove to stay on track.
The fools are told, "They've earned their place!"
Or fed some lie to keep the pace.
The Soviets proved it well enough:
The chosen rose—the rest were stuck.
A rotten caste, no shred of grace,
Where honor lost its rightful place.
And now it's worse—the filth runs deep,
They serve the BEAST and watch us weep.
A world in chains, held tight once more
By fear, by lies, by Satan’s war.
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Stacked Deck
A game where cheats don’t rule the spread—
A rare exotic dream instead.
And suckers hear the same old phrase:
"No luck for you—just lost the race."
But this is more than cards they play—
It’s life itself, a rigged charade.
The deck is stacked, the rules are fake—
A hollow "order" built to break.
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Cherry blossoms bloom.
Poet waits for rhyme.
Yet the haiku lingers—
Lost in thought and time.
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To the queen, no pawns bring trouble,
If it's not a chessboard fight.
They're just toys—no more than rubble,
Empty moves and hollow might.
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Red-cheeked fools in dreams arise,
Drenched in sweat, I wake in fear.
Twisted wretches sharpen lies,
Though they vanish year by year.
CowID, war—it’s no surprise,
The ruling beasts must thin the herd.
No great secret hides their ties,
They serve the Evil, bound by word.
Fools may aid them, yet their might
Is nothing but a fleeting spark.
The beasts bring weapons back to light—
A flood of words, a shield so dark.
For fools are armor, words are blades,
Their dullness firm as stone remains.
No longer do they bring charades,
Their masters rise from shadowed plains.
These pawns are used to crush the wise,
A mass to smother thought and spark.
Too little strength is left—time flies,
And no one halts the coming dark.
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The Muse’s gate is hard to cross,
Its price is steep—of that we’re sure.
No promise shields you from the loss
Of worth, if what you bring is poor.
Madness and genius—fools proclaim
They walk as one, yet that’s a lie.
The herd, in madness, fears the flame
Of those who dare to cast off ties.
They brand as “mad” what breaks their chain,
Yet bow to whispers, dull and blind—
The teachers preaching hollow pain,
Destroying thought, unshaping mind.
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Chess—check—fall.
World—lie—thrall.
Fool—fraud—wreck.
Dust—doom—speck.
Foe—a fool.
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"All will be fine!" they say.
A rotten broth they spray,
Then pour it from the heights,
To blind and drown the sights.
The fools, once more, obey—
To toil and die they stray.
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Stationary bike
Boldly on the bike I ride,
Cherishing the cozy air.
No green landscapes stretch outside—
Just a mural hanging there.
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"Doctors," so-called
With gadgets draped, they speak in codes,
Their Latin reeks of rot and mold.
So grave, so smug—disgusting loads,
Their greed for gold is plain and bold.
Their “cures” are but a slow demise,
They drain your coin, then let you fade.
Just masking symptoms, selling lies,
Like goblins in a twisted trade.
And when CowID took its toll,
Two-thirds revealed their wretched role.
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Crossroads loom—what path to take,
When most just lead to Murk and Wrack?
Choices fade, but don’t forsake—
Step off the road, forge your track.
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Hornless Lies
"Spin myths about yourselves. The gods began that way."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec
A myth can veil the thirst for might,
Hide horns beneath a sacred tale.
Then scriptures preach the gods were right—
Their mercy vast, their wrath so pale.
And so we watch as tyrants play,
Their legends told, their tales refined.
They promise heaven far away—
While leading us to be confined.
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Avoid It All!
He who pays —
Rules the ground.
Crowds obey,
Lurking 'round.
Dull and dirty is their call—
Stay away, avoid it all!
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Twisted Minds
Warped perception, lies, deceit—
Empty nonsense, crude conceit.
In the filth where tyrants tread,
Sensitive hearts recoil in dread.
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The Call
The trumpet cries,
The mad arise.
To fight, to slave—
Their soul’s the grave.
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Rat Race
From cradle to track—
No turning back.
They push, they chide,
No room for pride.
No time to reflect—
Just run, don’t suspect.
By race’s grim end,
No mind left to mend.
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Global Nonsense
The worst of sins is feeding lies,
Adding more to filth and rot,
Twisting minds and scarring souls
In a battle foul and fraught.
Bombs are just a minor token—
LIES OF WAR bring real decay.
Frauds and fools spew poison, hoping
Fame will come along their way.
Eager sheep, so blind, submissive,
Bow to Evil, lost in haze.
Led by Goats into the chasm,
Trapped in fear and false displays.
Through deceit, the Goat commands them,
Dangles “hope” yet fans their fright.
Once so timid—now they're shaking,
Numb from terror, lost in night.
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Will is Fragile
Will’s a structure, hard to build,
Weariness will see it killed.
When destruction clouds the sky,
Drenched in fear and soaked in lies,
Rest must be your shield and guide,
Or you’ll break and fade inside.
Briefly shines your fleeting light—
Mastered only by your blight.
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Schooling Years
Through all your school days,
They smother nature’s ways,
They drown you in lies,
Wrap chains in disguise.
Yet only through art
Can you stand apart—
Or fade with the weak,
Lost, dull, and bleak.
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Occasion
"Fate is but chance—but who pulls the strings?"
—Stanisław Jerzy Lec
A storm of chance, yet Evil steers,
Guiding all toward the dark.
Shadows whisper, bending gears,
Hidden hands ignite the spark.
Creeping beasts, concealed, obey,
Shaping ruin, veiled yet tight.
Man-made chaos lights the way—
Blurry lines reveal their sight.
All leads back to one control,
Filth has shown the tangled thread.
Through decay, their twisted goal:
Gnawing Spirit until it’s dead.
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All poems are located at address http://vykhovanets.yzz.me
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