Deja Vu

Geopolitics
attack geopolitics
altering governments.
The secret war

A strategic endeavor
on a large-scale
tilts on its axis
as we're infiltrated.

Invaded
by this army
of coconspirators
conspiring to rule
the new world.

Sorting raids
the guerillas by night
guerillas by day,
quell rebellions.

Sudden strikes
attack the state.
A bloodless coup
never bloodless.

Politicide occurs
of bourgeois views.
Mass murder
déjà-vu.

All infantryman
skirmish in dark
armor and riot gear
toward democide.

THE END

The Anarchous

To misguide the nations into the great divide
endless oceans of embryon atoms collide
The confusion sets in amidst the battle cries
an eternal cattle list, to an illimitable war,
the boundless secret of the deep, dark hoar:

Lore is the immortal space without dimension,
that maze us mortals in Dementia
Gaze where time and place is lost
Chaos holds the Anarchous.

This Just In

The TV flashes
Propaganda, demonization with rumors
of child sacrifice. A perception
of a bleak future. Disinformation.
A culture feared and brainwashed.

An official declaration of war
inherent violence, troops deployed
outlet to prolong military conflicts,
displacing bias and hatred, top down views,
dictated by politics in different theatres.
The paranoid mentally unstable men launch
campaigns and battles, missiles and bombs.

Seize territory, annilhate the rival,
destroy the prosecutor, subjudicate the state,
commit mass genocide, nullify resistance,
spread pestilence, starvation, influence
until opposing forces desert or surrender.

But it is never over.
Peace never existed
Just time for preparation.
No way to escape it.
War will kill us all.

Accelerant destruction.
Termination, domination.
"For the mother land."
For death's demonstrations
to balance the power.
Diminute nations.
Control populations.
The incentive to deceive:

One man wants to rule us all
One man wants to level Carthage
One man wants to plunder gold
One man wants to gamble lies
The war acquires all our lives.
The people beg for food.
The soldiers position and shoot.
The heroes all get booed.

THE END

Before the End Came

My life is a spirit deep
under the surface of water
moving, separated.

A breath, my soul, the night
blasts darkness in the gloom,
the misty inking blackness.

Time sits in the middle
mourning mourn. The dark stirred
darkened, kindled the obscure.

Kindle is the darken apple.
Eye lids weigh heavily.
The pupils yearn.

Blackout like berries on Tuesday
flies and the skies,
the fear of Bart and
Benjamin Franklin's book
the killer 13,
imitate Jesus and Socrates.
The blemished marks are developing holes.

They have blackened my boots
and the blacksmith made me a chain.
I can taste your Judgment Day.

THE END

Vein of Taunt

Now we see in a dim-mirror, darkly,
a riddle but then face to face.
Partial, yet, fully known-eternity.
A broken reflection of the truth
clear and polished like a simile.
Darkon scatterer uncertainly derived.
The ancient hands of language touch
alluding nothingness, the wicked walk.

THE END

Bring this butterfly to the temple
at the present, on the double.
Ask this of the Bible,
Was I correct when I assumed
the Dark Day would be all gloom?
And if promise walks with Yahweh
in the dark and on doomsday,
when He is discernibly nothing,
then to Him am I also missing?
Or is everything pretending to be
as visionaries have Utopian dreams?
Should I believe amongst the bluster,
another serf stranded as a dreamer,
dreaming the dreams within my grip
on the brilliant seeds of saintship?
Virtue's too scarce! The Snake writhes
constant manipulation for the tithes.
As I bawl, they worship Baal.
O divine deiform, is religion in a clamp?
Could you light a lighter lamp?
Or is everything pretending to be
as visionaries have Utopian dreams?

THE END OF ENDINGS

James Dye