Oh this and Oh that.

It’s how he got to be

a Satyra, a son of

Persephone,

that I, in defiance of

Wikipedia,

dare to construct as

She Who Speaks Persian,

and I could go further

and link the name

to Setareh,

because I am a firm believer

in cohesion,

in the flavour of words

when they roll off of

my Avestan tongue.

But I digress,

and want to return

to this modern day version.

Yes I’ve seen him

and I believe the stories.

After the prints?

I’ve often thought,

looking at the strong everywhere

crushing the weak,

usurping water, land,

nature and energy

in exchange for

pornography,

or bombs, the same thing,

for a mere bit (or ether) coin,

or a see-through square of meth,

I’ve thought that there is zero

justice in this realm,

and if not here,

what makes you believe

that things are different

in the next one after death?

But then there is this picture

to illuminate

these few lines thrown

haphazardly.

No, it was not worth it.

Dominion is not the drug

that appears to be, power

over fellow men (women)

proves nothing.

Hideousness does not trump

innocence of youth, its cool,

for it is vengeance directed

towards, and away from,

the fate you were dealt,

closet incel that you are

with a meat machine gun

at some quaint high-school.

Abuse of position.

Those that are weaker than you.

Not as rich. Connected. Hollywood.

Look up to you for guidance

over that of an animal

in a concentration farm.

When you look back

and each second returns

as a demon

in the middle of the night.

Because it can.

Now your dark religion

laps at your doubt

and asks for your hand

hiding behind your back,

no harsher judger of men

than a lone man.

jam23