*BEWARE, NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH! 

 

In Only A Contented God

 

     We say we love our children,

But we’re making love in secret

While openly selling them war,

We’re all complicit,

We’re all thriving as writhing

The Gods ejaculate hate for our being,

We’re all spunked in the head by dark forces at work.

 

     We’re researching

Chemicals to throw at foreign –

A foe, and building bombs better

With robots and drones,

Yet there’s kids being born

Stricken with Aids,

And treatments are dead

Like the animals dying,

Animals they’ve made of us all.

 

     And the Gods can’t get enough,

Can’t satisfy their need to belittle us all,

And they’re making gamblers of fathers

While whoring the wives,

And none see the sadness

In many child’s eyes,

The sadness for being born

To this bitch Mother Earth,

An Earth where the worth

Of a child is nothing but spunk,

Spunk from the Gods ejaculate –

This hate to our minds,

 

     We’re selling kids war,

We say we’re teaching the good in us all,

But the preparatory tools

That make children combatants,

Are doctored by psychologists

Doctored like many a mediums fascist

That edits all programming unleashed

To the masses,

     And the classes

Are quiet if they have pennies to spare,

Pennies invested in arms race

And gunshots,

     That takes the tall soldier

For being born poor.

 

     We’re all to blame,

We’re all at fault

For playing their game,

For the games fully loaded

Like the throw of life,

Where the di are rounded

So the sharpness has gone.

 

     Nothing is fair,

Nothing we pray for is granted

Without handicap or clauses,

And yes Santa is dead –

Killed by the corporates

By marketing and greed,

Greed we all pay for

By endearing our purse,

A purse that the poorest

Know to be thin,

     Like the heart of Gods

Without depth or feeling

As they ejaculate hate to our minds.

 

     Divided we stand

Not knowing one or all,

Divided we claim to now

Know it all,

Divided we listen to medium-ship

Lies,

     Divided we fall for it

Time after time.

 

     The powers that be

Don’t care for you,

You’re a number to be reckoned

When death duty is due,

And life here on Earth

Is now the cheapest it can be,

Where politicians are crooks

Beckoning themselves as Gods,

Gods that ejaculate hate to our minds,

Minds bordering insanity,

    Now knowing,

          The truth.

 

Michael J Waite 20^th August 2013.