The Cocaine
I stood on the Ivory Towers.
I watched them breathe power.
They called it holy.
A secret grail.
A doorway to the unseen.
They sniffed control.
They inhaled dominance.
Their voices changed.
A new frequency.
Enough to hypnotize nations.
In the Parliament of the Few,
they toasted in silence.
“Let this be forbidden,” they said.
“Let it belong only to us.”
Power must stay sacred.
Power must stay rare.
I walked among artists.
Musicians.
Inventors.
Politicians.
All drinking shadows in the dark.
All seeking the same fire.
Then I understood.
The drug was not the master.
The heart was.
The fool multiplied foolishness.
The criminal multiplied crimes.
And the world called it normal.
God gave us keys.
Gateways to other realms.
But the wicked stole them.
They preach purity in daylight.
They feast on fear at night.
They say it destroys.
But fear destroys more.
Fear kills the soul.
Fear chains the mind.
The gods of cocaine never lie.
Their rule is our reflection.
A broken society.
A trembling people.
Was a drug not meant to heal
when guided by wisdom?
The gods must be mad.
Or perhaps we are.
Let the wise rise.
Let the pure in spirit enter.
For God’s hidden temple
opens only to those
who fear nothing.
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