A False Prophets’ Poems

Content Warning: blood, police brutality, language

False Prophets

False prophets proclaim false profits and prophecies. 

Democracies rise, stumble, and crumble in inevitable rubble. 

A rumble is near. 

We scuffle and jeer, 

Chuckle, applaud,

And idly stand by venomous fraud. 

Blood in the streets. 

Don’t worry or weep. 

Our leaders will care. 

They’ll always be there. 

Past, present, 

They always are

Glistening, listening, 

Close and far. 

Hand in hand

And stride by stride, 

They’re always there right by our side 

With fists raised high in REVOLUTION!

LOOK! LOOK, Here,

At my solution!

We’ll end your fears and solve pollution!

SERVE! PROTECT THE CONSTITUTION!

Honor constituents. 

Fulfill their desires, 

Then light them ablaze with envious fire. 

Urns .. burn .. into the sky. 

Work .. earn .. just to get by. 

Burn .. churn .. as tensions grow higher,

Don’t look at me. 

I’m just the supplier, 

Designer, denier, and manufacturer

Of all this fucking evil rapture. 


Merely Sport

I was once a slave

From birth to grave,

Taught my fate,

Derived from hate.

Centuries pass, yet I still wait.

Surely, you .. can relate. 

I will work, you take the profits.

Fill and stuff them in your pockets.

Once they’re filled, you’re not fulfilled.

Your life is so devoid of thrill.  

All the hate in what you say,

Yet, you tell me how to behave?

Outstretched, I reach and reach 

For my right to my speech.  

My right to my speech

Is drowned out by your preach, 

Soap-box, and crying sessions

While I soak in your lessons. 

Don’t teach me, call me dumb, 

Reluctantly grant my freedom.

Son of a bitch?

Me knee for you?

I mean, what do you really do? 

Judging what you put us through, 

No one should have gratitude, platitudes, 

And institutes,

Just attitude and parachutes

Released, designed in the pursuit

Of falling through the clouds of worthlessness. 

Son of a bitch?

Oh, that’s fun. 

The same mother of that son

Rain, sleet, with feet in snow

Was beat in streets not long ago.

Before that, hanged for fun

And targeted with loaded gun.

In other words, for cheer and sport, 

And two ago, shipped port to port, 

Now petrified to go to court

For cases that get no support

Which could, would, and surely should. 

Apologies for my retort. 

Sir, .. how should I protest?

In which manner do you attest?

What way to you is best

My flawed, beloved King? 

Shall I take a drag and kiss the flag 

On holy football Sundays, 

Then go and jog, be declawed,

Shot and flogged on Monday? 

I didn’t mean to shock, scare, deter, or offend you

In the way you do daily and don’t try to pretend to

Hide it, fight it, live inside it, 

Channel, and express it,

Similar to how I try to detest and contest it.

These responses swarm my mind

Sitting by The Real Crime

Who care and share my scarlet blood. 

Loathing comes in waves and floods

Of guilt and contradictions

Spilled across the idle screens and many endless fictions. 

I know what you really mean

When shouting at the idle screen. 

I know what you really mean.

I know what you are. 

I am you and you are I. 

I just wish I’d really die. 

I am you and you are I. 

I just wish you’d really die. 

I don’t wish you’d really die. 

I don’t know what I feel inside. 


All of Your Coworkers are Burning

Lock yourself inside a stall. 

Vomit words upon a wall. 

Try and fail to grasp it all. 

Weep. Scream. Internalize. 

Run to the pounding drums and

Baritone falsetto hums. 

Conceal truth behind your gums. 

Kick. Bite. Internalize. 

Lock yourself inside a stall.

Persist. Resist. It’s just withdrawal.

You’re D1, kid. Don’t drop the ball. 

Spit. Claw. Internalize. 

Holding hands in empty roads.

Pre-made plans, but where to go? 

You look so nice. 

I need a ride. 

Say less, come,

Get inside. 

Where off to? 

I love that place. 

I love your sounds, mystique, and face. 

Goodbye. 

Howl. Mourn. Internalize. 

Tow the line. 

Please be on time. 

Have you ever seen a crime? 

All of your coworkers will burn. 

All of your coworkers will burn. 

All of your coworkers will burn.

All of your coworkers will burn. 

All of your coworkers will burn. 

All of your coworkers will burn. 

All of your coworkers will burn!

ALL OF YOUR COWORKERS ARE BURNING! 

DO SOMETHING YOU WORTHLESS MUT!

CALL FOR HELP!

SOMETHING!

ANYTHING!

Christ, you are pathetic. 


The Labrat Generation

The powers that be don’t want you to see 

The world that’s all around you. 

Devouring sprees and towering seas 

Will fall and then surround you. 

The villains and thieves,

With venom and greed, 

Will bow so proud and crown you, 

Then cower and leave to crowds,

Deceive, and loudly disavow you. 

The powers that be don’t want you to see 

The world that’s all around you

And every second you don’t check it, 

They will simply pound you, 

Drown you, scam you into submission

One step closer to fruition. 

Or, .. will someone stand? 

Or, .. will others stand? 

Or, .. will thousands stand? 

Or, .. will millions stand? 

Or, .. will billions stand? 

Or, will an era of innovation, justice, peace, prosperity, and beauty unfold before us in manners never yet fully achieved in all of human civilization?

You decide, Labrat Generation. 

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Ben Walter
Ben Walter is a junior political science major and aspiring 21st-Century visionary. His main hobbies revolve around music, literature, and painting. His biggest influences are Prince, Steve Jobs, Leonardo Da Vinci, Tommy Douglas, and his mother, Michele Mastro.