The Hollow Men
Behold, the modernist’s world coming alive,
Now filled with plotter of the excrements,
The suer everywhere invites to take a dive.
While its whore’s house surely it implements.
The taxi comes and goes, the client’s liking,
The women with their clients in have sex,
And really find nowhere a parking.
While they are declaring their verse as complex.
A full stop now, there it is the tower, Eiffel,
A mighty of a tall but insipid a fair,
The value of this trip is going to be a trifle.
Except now for the poisoned air.
Champs Elysées is lonely and sad, mourning its children,
Sainte-Beuve, its flowers long withered and no one’s gives a dime,
The mirrors in hands, Hope is lost in the garden and none listen.
The Waste Land dry now and poetry is just a crime.
The virgin is lost and wanders in the garden,
Her tower like a mighty knight is guarding her,
The cytherean ones are now getting madden.
Cuz she does not know what she is living for.
A mother is calling her sons come home,
The temple full of armies is roaring hard,
Their soldiers want to bring down the dome.
Of poetry, where is in fact the bard.
But he does not look at them at all,
He does not really give a dime,
He is just waiting for their resounding fall.
While killing them so much on the rhyme.
Poetry is still alive, he says, for all who love,
A verse of never ending story never passes,
The melody of its rhyme on the wings of a dove.
Coos in the sinned big mouths of the masses.
The children’s voices filling again the temple,
They’re mourning with their hearts the one,
The mourning coo is making the sky tremble.
And none in the heaven or hell can stop its sound.
It is their lamblike voices come to ears,
Which is mourning all the night and day,
The dying children bear no years.
Cuz them mothers did not want them to stay.
They puke them out of their bodies,
Like vomits or like mere excrements,
While they all are acting like ladies.
Going lust in all their elements.
The freedom they claimed in April now is gone,
But still their legs stay are so very opened wide,
Their all muscle tensing, they all are crying fun.
And letting the pleasure spread on inside.
Le pettit morte, they call it now,
The children roaring into dark,
Their necks cut violently by saw.
Their mothers are just looking snark.
Two virgins on the body still are fighting,
The divine ritual still in the mist,
The divine Lady with her eyes brighting.
Does not really know that she exists.
She’s looking for a way to thrive,
But in this world of fire and smoke,
Where none of the babies come to birth alive.
The only thing that she can do is pastiche and trope.
The Rosary’s First holds no Mystery,
Her power slowly so decreased,
She lost her purity, now’s in misery.
The Red Lady got the women deceit.
Mama, mama, I cry in my tight prison,
Knock, knock - is there anybody, Hope?
The cytherean love gives you no reason.
These lovely monkeys gave the men their rope.
And I, am here, tied up in my cord begging to get loose,
There is no hope now so I do not know why I want to live,
There is no Hope for me, she died, I am in the noose.
The Seer is right, He will never have to forgive.
None of these pretenders will ever be forgiven,
For they are still killing the purest one of all,
One by one with them all the Seer will get even.
And cause all their so called poetry to just fall.
It is just trash that needs to be put to the bin,
So that the life can come back to earth,
The death is coming for those who sinned.
So many women who cruel killed their birth.
The men not caring, they now think have no right,
Their hearts dropped to their bowel, even lower,
No lilies bloom blue, but all are redding the sight.
Making their minds and their souls so much sour.
The hollow men gather the corpses,
Is no ‘spitality in here, so be gone,
A dead land full of the dead nurses.
The Seer proclaim the deaths be done.
Ulysses rises from his tomb,
His sword is flying like a dove,
Like from a Mother’s gentle womb.
Penelope to him she’s still betroved.
A night is rising from the Mother’s pit,
No throne on which a queen to sit.
The love can still can give a save,
The bridges have all fallen, there is no tomorrow,
The meagre one is nothing but a slave.
In this land of pitiful and so long sorrow.
The pain is growing like a tumour now instead,
Of lessening, for the love of fame and recognition,
The Hollow Master declared the old ways dead.
Putting the old beautiful, gentle art on its way to perdition.
A big wide world it’s lost in this new jungle,
And monkeys coming out of it all day,
They make u theories so they can keep on juggle.
And on the people’s thought they can keep stay.
Imagists are the new breed of last century,
Their Master lack of talent has no match,
He punch the leaven to make the pastry.
While he thrown the bait to see what he would catch.
He chose a bunch under his demon wing,
The hungry ones purchased to his greeting,
His poetry could never ever sing.
But kept on to the entire world on deceiving.
Invented new rules and said that he had studied the matter,
The poetry is dead so he had to put another one in place,
He wrote so much garbage that he got up on the ladder.
Everyone looked at him like a god, cuz he had them all laced.
Looked like all the people have forgot,
And none of them remembered of love,
Out of these skunks the lie became an art.
So the impostors and lie rose above.
The love of lies was in all hearts,
Anyone said lie is not a sin,
Everybody lies, those are the facts.
People are now more enchained that they ever have been.
You cannot tell lie from the truth not anymore,
The real love it is suppressed and crushed,
Its wound it is now larger than the day before.
This is the sin no god is gonna wash.
The eye of the horse releases the tear,
No one is going to save his mistress,
The one who hold him the most dear.
And gave him the most divine caress.
A love that is in the haven forged and made,
But then her life force was to be given,
On her life her pain then came to cascade.
From the darkest lie that is of evil driven.
The love expelled this way from earth,
Had all the children in distress,
The princess will never give now birth.
The Seer will miss forever her caress.
It is but a single chance,
To have the world as it was,
A right to the real romance.
A pure soul through death has to pass.
And so the death will step on death again,
The Seer will have then to see the light,
And he will release the world from its pain.
As soon as his wife will be in his mighty sight.
The temple should receive its own sacrifice,
The world now owes the heavens so much,
The evil one will not be left to its device.
As soon the Seer embrace his wife’s touch.
The word has to be spoken and have the heaven hear,
To mend the life that’s broken and bring Sophia back,
It is only one thing that can cast away the fear.
And fill again the chest with the love that now is lack.
The book is now opened and there is only one that can close,
Her ritual must be done, the Seer must feel her breath,
The pure one must walk the path and have her faith chose.
When all she know what is coming for her, the death.