Like the Beast with his collar, is Man with his dollar.

The collar, you see, restrains the beast
In his pursuit of a fancier feast.
The dollar, then, restrains the man
From following after his self-centered plan.

Blue collars, white collars,
Dollars dripped in red.
Which collar, for you,
Will they place around your head?

Will you be led to believe that the collar you earn
Is solely based on the knowledge you learn?
Or will you discover that the number of dollars
Determines the number and color of collars?

It is good and well to aid mankind
Upon this noble trek;
But do it for the reasons of progress and love;
And not a collar squeezing your neck.


Like the Beast with his collar, is Man with his dollar.

The leadership of wolves

De-evolution to a primitive, animal-like state
While the sheep that they eat call it winning and great.

O, onward you go, sleepy sheep, with pride, to the slaughter
Pulling along with you your sons and your daughters.

Will you cry out, on that day, as loud as the Dominion will roar?
Will your weak voice be heard, or will it reach a closed door?

Cast off those shackles that tackle your mind and your heart,
But hurry, beloved readers, before they tear you apart. 

The leadership of wolves

The World is my Kryptonite

by JF

The World is my Kryptonite.
It was delivered by a Canaanite.
It is so very black and white.
Black as black midnight.
White as white starlight.
Hotter than a fist-fight.
Colder than a frostbite.
It tries to lure you to the fight.
Being naturally impolite.
Always swelling with pride and might.
Soaring like a meteorite.
Exploding like dynamite.

O, but it is a parasite!
Warping every human right.
Dealing every man-made fright.
Feeding like a scabie mite.
Destroying like a forest blight.

Yet it craves a ray of Light.

From it, I remain from sight.
It is worse than any stage fright.
A never-ending snakebite.
Seeing without sight.
Hearing without height.
Choking out the sunlight.

The world is my Kryptonite.
But parts of it may turn to Light.
So its pain I will carry on.

Superman cringing before Kryptonite

The World is my Kryptonite

Behind the Veil


I wonder if they’ll still chant his name,
When the Native’s blood has been spilt again?

I wonder if they’ll still shout and cheer,
As the Anger and Wrath draws further near?

Will they dance and jeer upon their feet,
Over the Scarlet stains marking the street?

Will they remain blind to his defiant knavery,
As their children are marched into his slavery?

But the blind, I suppose, will keep following since
He’s adorned as a glittering and potent Prince.


Behind the Veil