The Death Cult Amuses Itself to Death

There are those who amuse themselves to death, these are the ones who enjoy death and destruction.  That is their passion.  There are those who defend the indefensible as profit is all that matters.  Life is a bottom line and the impact on society is a side issue.

I am going to sit with this as I listen to Roger Waters. I feel inspired to write a poem.

First to Roger Waters … Perfect Sense to set the scene behind the insanity we call normal.

My poem inspired by my awakening to power that is not at peace with itself. It’s actions make perfect sense in the light of understanding where we are at.

You may want to ponder the Fool… what is the outcome of the Fool… awakening us to what?

 

DEATH CULT PEDALLED AS PEACE-MEAL


Reframing death as depopulation sustains,

Dehumanising as superiority speaks,

Sending innocent soldiers into wars

Recurring nightmares as trauma haunts war crimes pedalled as patriotism,

Post traumatic stress becomes a nightly bed fellow of hot sweats then cold,

Seeing a hundred yard stare in the eyes of the enemy now blank and empty,

A corpse shell shocked
not a human being
honoured.

 

War is the war against God?

As only those who believe in enemies see a Godless world,

A world of hell and brimstone of firey hatred finds devils in challenges to power,

To remember that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

 

Healthy bodies of perfection from a mother’s undying love,

Returned as memories burning embers of never ending pain of loss,

For they were placed in harms way on a whim and the sin of oiling the wheels of industry
without conscience as they are disposable like built in obscelecense,

Weapons render the human mangled, strangled, disfigured, deformed, disabled and obliterated in wars with reason and frontiers without tears,

For young soldiers are ordered to clean the area,

Pick up the limbs, fingers, feet, burned flesh as they gasp overwhelmed by the repugnant putrid smell at the Gates of hell,

Is this the planned outcome?


For who profits from mayhem, carnage, terrorism and total despair?

Who will repair a lost family, a fallen friend or a desolate city?

As they walked stunned unable to feel humanity as it has been blasted to hell and back,

Can you see man’s inhumanity to man?

Brother to brother?

Father to son?

Generations that will never come,

home.

 

What of the puppet masters?

These are the ones that orchestrate the wars as games,

They send other to do their cruel bidding as they strategically play the game,

And ask

… And another?

They stand righteous with contempt of criticism as if war is always a Just War when one is on the right side of God,

Keep the band playing, keep the PR spinning webs of subterfuge, keep the same narrative repeating and the sheep will follow the wolf to slaughter,

As the dragon sends in flame throwers to burn the evidence without trace elements,

Brings in high powered weapons to avoid the Geneva Conventions,

For there are no wounded only living or dying!

 

Stunned or crying,

As families are obliterated over generations in civil society,

Soldiers in the great wars were never sent into combat with family members to spare mothers the pain of such a clamity and preventing the end of bloodlines,

Yet civilians do not have any special privileges or protections,

They are exposed, vulnerable and defenseless against violent extremism,

As the commander regards conscience as reflection and will not move one inch out of weakness,
He is doing his job!


In the strategic chaos to win markets not friends,

Innocent people traumatised are shaking, screaming, filled with anxious fear,

For there are those who gain pleasure from pain,

As ritual satanic abuse is normalised in the pursuit of power as a dark mass attack,

Raping for self gratification in a theatre of war that is not a show and tell,

As secret societies, cults are disciplined in hierarchies of rules, oaths and allegiances,

Children are rounded up in a fox hunt as objects or things are non humans,

In third world countries there are no birth certificates as so many are missing in action,

They are transported to the ONE ring,

Child trafficking, poppy cultivation, prostitution, arms are the industries of narcissism where thorns are horns as they surrender to violence as the final arbiter over life and death,

The crown of thorns sinks deep into the weeping widows destitution,

Forced to prostitute to feed their children as they are rejected and isolated as dirty and unkept.

 

The Masters use words as prose to cultivate loyal patriotism, liberating democracy and our freedoms as if personally called by a clarion call of winged angels,

They craft a vision of doing the bidding for the highest good,

For words are empty when devoid of true compassion,

And the lust for war leaves millions languishing in the fall out of the silent spring of depleted uranium,

As everything touched turns to stone,

For this is NOT the philosopher’s stone when stone is unmoved and unchanging,

It is the grave stone or wooden cross marking the spot where a beast has trampled the down trodden.

 

All is seen from a higher perspective,

And the circle will complete,

As what you do to a brother or sister returns to your feet,

For to live on your knees is to ask for forgiveness not utter ‘will I go to hell?’

For to purify is to acknowledge the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God,

As the trinity is the three fold flame of love, compassion and truth,

The four horseman is HOPE – Honesty, Oneness, Peace and Enjoyment,

For you must atone for the sin of hatred, ignorance and ruthlessness as the victims are demanding Justice,

Beyond the grave the are inspiring change,

A New World of Infinite Grace,

Where the good, the holy and the beautiful take the reins of what was unruly,

For we are to bring this so called heaven to earth,

We are to seek for peace and reconciliation,

For the world is war weary and the climate has changed,

As we won’t stand by and allow the wanton trashing of human life and our planet,

We push forward and reclaim our lands as stewards,

Ownership was the fear of not enough and freedom is the gift of grace,

For it is time for the human race,

To surrender to love,

For this is the dove that is looking for somewhere to land,

For all return to the Centre peace,

On time..

 

Some songs from Roger Walters that bring the feeling back to those stone cold. You are called to come home to

…. sanity.

 

What does God want…?

Are you Amused to Death ….?