Praise be to whom fighting for freedom entails all manners of action and cruelties of war I ma think myself a coward if I employ Hitler's methods not; rotten to the core For we know, a band of brigands

The historical Dracula resides somewhere in the mists of superstition circling a forest of legend. Vlad's title was Voivode of the kingdom was Wallachia, a borderland between the Christian and Islamic

Sweeter than the chains of slavery is the glinting steel of a hopeless battle With swords thirsty and rivulets blood hungry Men, who shrouded in the darkness of this time, yearn only for the valorous light

The future awoke not a dead collections of trinkets but a man. Feld was his name. On awakening him from a cryogenic sleep, the young doctors had laughed that this had all been an experiment. Revival from

The sun was down the first day. He escaped into the sea while the island burned behind him. The waves crashed against him, but he swam harder and faster than ever while hands unhallowed reached for him.

Mediations Now is the mediation between the impressions of the past, and the meditations of the finite mind on the infinite. From the tumult of an errant Eros Does a man behold a cloudless sky, With a

Empty in 2D Heaven the boy with the controller avoided the poisoned leaven. Of politicos and moralists, preachers and pugilists The colors and fancies to bedazzle the weak young mindlessly Leaping, killing,

Aint it grand in Wonderland Lady Liberty is dead, Uncle Sam took her to woods, got her so drunk she couldn't understand Sleeping in that Klonopin induced American dream Is the American pyramid scheme Keep

Welcome to the Holocene Eschaton Tripping from the vapors, the blood is running cold Reptilian mind seeking after the divine. Wrathful at the ends of its age Green-eyed and with scaled skin Blind like

O Monarchs, how ye fell Fallen upon thy dulled swords; clashed against that steely hell The end of the Old Europa, lite by a tiny spark A dreary end to those manly values are a snipers bullet finding its

Do you know the affairs of the eagle? As it soars on high, And tastes the air, Its feathers beaten as it climbs Its breath heaves and sighs Thus does it soar- but alone! Despite its pain, nothing comes

Today Twisted tales are told torrid OF vicious values vicariously vacated And Piercing Patriarchs passed their primes With the highest Hoarding heady heights, Attacking ashen angels- after the atrocious

Calling humanity on the horizon A shadow of the reaper casting his dim across the errant rays of sun Catatonic, not asleep, alive but dreaming Behind the calm mask of manly serenity, he is screaming Mad-

God Bless America Wincing with every bang, and the lightning rolls like the artillery Not just a metaphor Incoming, inbound, Thoughts racing with the shadows of the hounds of war A husk, a flailed piece

You come to the poets, for laments and lampoons For affairs of the loin, and laughs of a loon To the eyes of the cynic Nothing holds weight Forever suspending judgment meeting each day without pleasures

The Amazon Prime Alpha before the betas, a lady fine Full of fire and passion The bipedal white tigress Conquered by none, her heart encased in steel The diviners conceal while I turn fate's wheel Hair,

Laid down to sleep to escape the solitude's sorrow The soul travels to places where the poets borrow The Elysian fields, where words fail to capture this divine Here you can forget Phaedrus and his phantom