Futile Efforts of the Beasts

Despite the Beasts’ relentless strain,
The “people” rise and live again—
Amid the fascist filth they stand,
Through trials wrought by wicked hands.

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The Axe

Enough of digging for “happiness”
In the world’s manure heap, grim!
Strengthen your Spirit, rise, progress—
Cast off that spade; take up axe within.

The Spirit’s force, the Mind so clear,
Will sever all that filth apart,
Where lies, declared as “truths,” appear,
And vermin breed with cunning art.

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Mediocrity

Mediocre lives “within its means,”
Unbothered, heedless, free of fuss,
Inherited its foolish dreams—
For minds that think, it’s vile as pus.

It clogs all paths, it swarms the way,
No freedom left, no space to roam.
If you resist the dull cliché,
The halfwits claim the world their own.

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Fools are like the microbes,
Spreading fast, it’s just insane.
And to match them, foolish masses—
What a world of Muck and Pain.

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Mind and Spirit

The mind’s a fog of fear and lies,
Deceit and traps in thick disguise.
Like treacherous reefs beneath the waves,
It leads astray the reckless brave.

Yet intuition clears the haze,
Guiding through life’s uncertain maze.
To Truth’s sure shore it gently steers,
A ground untouched by depths or fears.

Below, the shallow world remains—
The mind’s own fog feeds shallow gains.
The Intuition lies discarded aside,
And without it, all sinks in pride.

Rise from the depths of falsehood’s sea,
Use mind’s own fog, but carefully.
Beware, for cunning lurks around—
Where wisdom blooms, strife may be found.

The Purest Spirit earns the trust
Of minds not bound by greed or lust.
A Spark of God’s Eternal Grace—
Without it, thought’s a hollow space.

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Global Absurdity

Push away from Absurdity’s snare,
Take to the Skies, feel the open air.
With sarcasm fueling your flight anew,
There’s no room for filth in the path you pursue.

Global Absurdity stands like a wall,
Break through its fortress, tear down its thrall.
Don’t linger or falter—your heart turns cold,
The storms are brewing, the future unfolds.

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Zombie TV

“Excessive reading is not only useless, as the reader borrows others’ thoughts and absorbs them less effectively than if they had reached them independently, but also harmful to the mind, as it weakens it and accustoms it to draw ideas from external sources rather than its own head.”
—Arthur Schopenhauer

The age of readers’ gone, it seems,
Though even that was far from pure.
Today the viewer reigns, and dreams
Are stolen, poisoned, insecure.

The screen spews nonsense, endless lies,
And minds forget the way to think.
From filth to soullessness, the slide’s
A step away—a deadly brink.

The digital camp’s approving horde
Are numbers led by scripted schemes.
This broken world, a crownless lord:
Be outcast if you don’t share their dreams.

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The Inhuman That Feeds on a Foolish World

A crownless king, a hollow blight,
Consumes the world in endless night.
Its scraps remain—a lifeless brew,
Yet fools will never seek the true.

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Priorities

As a child, I ate but little,
Found the time for thoughts to whittle.
But for many, food’s ascent
Comes just after lust is spent.

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Trash

Doubts, rigidity and steadfast will,
Through your own thoughts, instill.
The world’s a mire of trash, it seems,—
And never yield to silly dreams!

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Narrow Specialists

A narrow view, concentration’s plight!
Become a fiend—descend from height.
Fed by lopsided expertise,
Your mind succumbs to barren seas.

For broader thought, the Earth’s a tomb;
Narrow minds sow widespread gloom.
A plague of folly sweeps the lands,
Its tyranny in tight commands.

Lopsided vision breeds a flaw,
Though “success” abides its law.
In fields where Nature meets her end,
Such crudeness killers do defend.

Blind to truth, their deeds destroy,
“Achievements” only hollow joy.

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A Poet in the Ocean of Woes

On the galley of his verses,
Chained, he rows through futile tides.
Inspiration? Hollow curses!
Row through seas where Dead Souls bide.

To the ocean, Fresh Woes surging,
Lies will raise a hurricane.
Will the waves destroy his burden?
Hope is folly, just in vain.

Earth and seas, one jail united,
Prison walls that none escape.
Fools and sheep remain delighted—
Madness reigns, the world’s enslaved.

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The Rat’s Infernal Little Den

Heaps of corpses—that’s a war.
Fools in darkness? Plenty more.
Evil thrives as we obey,
Dragged to toil, led astray.

Toil is futile, world’s a sham,
Ruled by filth—a global scam.
To be true means casting doubt,
Seeking light to burn it out.

Madness fades where truth is found,
Self and world—delusions bound.
Light transcends, its voice is clear:
Dissolve within, no need for fear.

The den is deep, it leads to Hell,
And fools who sell their souls compel
A road to shame, to sorrow’s pit—
A bridge of lies they’ve proudly lit.

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Three Dumb Questions and the Fourth One Wise

“What?” and “where?” and “when?”—who cares?
Ask instead the “how?” that dares.
Fraud and trivia, bought and sold,
Strengthen chaos, dullness, mold.

First three serve just skill and lore,
But the fourth breaks through the door—
Leaps to realms unknown, untried.
“How?”—dare even cliffs abide!

Year by year, the frames grow tight;
The World Camp looms—a choking blight.
But with “how?” you live, not drift.
Not “like all”—a conscious shift.

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The Mark of a Fool

A home, a job, a family chain—
The mark of fools, the binding stain.
Step out, break free, escape the spin,
Or let your soul grow dim within!

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“Community Rules”

A silent lie, the rules declare—
Deceit wrapped tight in hollow care.
Step out, break ties, escape the game,
To save your soul from endless shame.

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Fools Get Killed, but More Will Come

Kill the fools—there’ll be no dearth,
The womb will grant them endless birth.
But talents rare. They’re cast aside.
And that’s why chaos spreads worldwide.

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Is the Predator the Cat? No, Man!

For centuries, the human hand
Has ruled with chaos, scorched the land.
Genocide, unbridled greed—
The cat looks on, ashamed indeed!

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The “Brainwash” Construction Site

Empty promises abound,
A box of lies—their hollow sound.
Fear, madness, poverty unfold,
A world that’s hit rock bottom, cold.

Yet promises are made again,
And fools still trust them, now as then.
They threaten, scare, and pave the way—
The cowards rise, their shadows stay.

They build a Camp, now digital, new,
A prison for the many, few.
No room for courage, none for might—
The guards enforce their crushing night.

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Winter in Soul and Mind

Winter. Frozen—not I, but my mind.
My soul, like embers, once gave me its heat.
Shards of dark thoughts in my head I find,
But to rise to Fury, I dare not compete.

Fury will warm—not a moan, but a roar,
A final cry to shake the earth’s core,
In a world where deceit is the common lore,
A world so wretched, wild, and poor.

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All poems are located at address http://vykhovanets.yzz.me

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