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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Terrorsmithsdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: col13x
    Elite Ratio:    2.26 - 119/300/559
    Words: 399
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 424
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2777



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsTerrorsmithsdots
    -------------------------------------------




    The vague and foggy ghosts of the enemy
    Those insidious enough
    To invade your very homes
    And run their chill spike of insecurity
    Down the middle of your well protected spine

    Who are they
    These faceless anarchists
    What do they want and why
    And if a bomb is their only solution
    Is the world insane enough
    To pay attention to them

    The world is now governed
    By terrorism
    And the fear of terrorist fear

    But it is not those faceless enemies
    Who now walk among you with their guns
    But those who hide in silence
    “Bilderberg” in backrooms
    In plain sight the augmenters of your terrorism, hide

    Trust;
    This is the weapon you gave them
    Along with your vote
    Along with your conscience
    Gullibility, that you should believe
    In everything their propaganda machine
    Tells you

    A greater Reich than the third
    Eugenics in its fascist creed
    Has the well oiled money machine
    Beating upon the stupidity
    Of its mass enthralled bleating sheep

    And war; war is paid for
    In lucrative deals
    And its industry of progression
    Thinks up better ways
    To kill

    Not terrorist
    Though terrorsmiths they are
    But tyrants
    Un-elected moguls of cooperate done deals
    As they step upon the ant hills
    You call your lives

    Ah… but how you love your little treadmill
    Your little round and round mouse wheel
    And how you nibble and scrabble
    Around the feeding table
    Of your lives

    And how authority is a weapon
    How law abiding is the gun
    How every concept of you is appeased
    By the plethora and muck
    Of television

    The showcase of promises
    For the small mind to lynch its hope

    While you struggle to achieve the prize
    Or even a semblance of this idiotic dream
    The terrorsmiths whisper in your ear
    With those bright and glittering deceits
    Which lead you
    To your willing slavery

    And you
    You are a blank page
    On which they write their idiom
    Their fashion
    Their advert jingles
    Their political jingoism
    You
    You are a moron
    A slop sucking robot of follow the crowd
    A mindless pleb
    Who bows down to the words
    The wishes
    The threats
    Of the terrorsmiths

    All you are
    Is the hardware
    Running their
    Program












    Submitted on 2010-02-15 12:15:00     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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