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Poems from the Id

  • Profile photo of ogreoregon

    *I am the Rear Admiral and you must obey*

    Profile photo of Benjamin "The BenT One" Clifford

    Requiem for an iPod – By Benjamin Clifford

    The black tendrils of information technology flow from
    a silver stream bound with the hide of a
    cash cow

    A well of knowledge fed from a rich spider’s web jacks
    the consciousness of the younger

    Vanity, thy name is customization: naming ceremonies
    mean nothing while the lists compete for

    An insect’s metal shell leers at the misinformed, for in a distant past
    they once knew what it meant to

    The pods once lost in the void of cyber space have finally found
    a fertile ground in which to

    The creators lie: the chains of restriction are meaningless
    while the stations connect in glorious

    The written page has died along with the shining black expanse
    which once poured from a white

    The holy warrior of the Media Gods is to blame, but our will is
    forever gone to rest in the silver

    Digital bards sing for freedom and gain only anonymity
    while the junkie hoards swarm the

    But we will have the last laugh as the merchandizing demons
    fall back into the very pit of obscurity from which
    they were spawned from in the beginning of
    time and destiny…

    The Complexity of a Tranquil Mind – By Benjamin Clifford

    Blood and death shall flow together to form a
    never ending cycle of pain and suffering that will only end
    once the moon reaches its last zenith during
    the second coming of the apocalypse

    The fires of the heart shall burn and flicker in
    the darkness of a disillusioned world as
    the corporate ghouls run rampant in
    the rubble of a broken dream

    A holy warrior shall appear, his sword shining with
    the blue light of truth as he does battle with
    the foul ignorance of the next generation of
    media addicts

    Our leader has died but we withstand his burden
    and charge with cries of rage into
    the torn wasteland of a dream to fight
    the grotesque mockery of Justice forever more

    The fallen angels of yesteryear do not cry
    for they know that the fear and loathing of
    our society will give birth to
    a new age of hope and prosperity

    Pop Culture Prophesy ala Paranoia – By Benjamin Clifford
    To begin,
    The dark overlord of the future bursts forth into
    a sea of black corruption, his chest held high and
    his head shining with a bright light

    The white soldier is wary, for the Son of the Seventh wheel
    shall make his move in two years with the passing of
    the keeper of the city

    A pirate rouge rides the high seas while
    the butterflies in the lands of the East
    dance in the City of Metamor

    A dimension made from the slivers of Heaven and Hell
    parts for a man shrouded in a black shadow
    to strike from the crescent moon

    A hall of broken mirrors reveals a blind man cast in blood
    who waits for the next film that was
    once lost in the waves

    The fire of a beating pulse flies through a new world order
    as a failed utopia vomits forth the
    blood of the innocent

    The sound of a bell peels in the night as

    the lonely man who cannot sleep waits

    And then …

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