Best Elites Poems
We see them sitting in towers
carved from ‘learned’ ivory,
insulated by their tenure
from the world of reality,
poisoning their students minds,
putting bad ideas in their heads,
the kind that in a century
left one hundred million souls dead.
They know they face no consequence,
they even blacklist all others,
it’s the students who pay the cost,
in the real world they all suffer
for imbibing leftist nonsense
that they learned at academy,
betrayed by malign professors,
by ‘elites’ who are not elite.
We see them strutting in Hollywood,
convinced that their fame is greatness,
they want us to watch ever film,
yet our values they dismiss.
Thinking they’re on the cutting edge,
and the we’re all just inbred proles,
they think that lying well on film
makes them the people in the know.
Yet most of them have more spouses
when most people have fingers,
all their rapes are upsetting,
the pedophilia disturbs.
Once called the city of angels,
now just a Sodom on the sea,
a mess of ruined human souls,
an ‘elite’ who are not elite.
Glance upon the creative scenes,
you’ll find many more of this kind,
like the ‘artist’ who wants thirty grand
for a spray-painted orange rind!
Or maybe the plotless writer
who calls it ‘literary fic,’
bad characters just moaning on
about how they’re damaged and sick.
Don’t forget today’s architect
with his swiss-cheese ‘masterpiece,’
it’s supposed to be a building,
nut I looks like concrete feces.
I wouldn’t take any of this
even if given out for free,
they’re making all art hideous,
these ‘elites’ who are not elite.
Then there are all of the blowhards
who make up the modern news,
thinking that you will only see
the things that they pick and choose.
When any man with internet
can see through their partisan crap,
and lord do they get all annoyed
when you call them out on that.
If they cannot win they censor
and double down on their madness,
the idea that they can’t control us
is one they cannot stomach yet.
Those fools will tell me it’s raining
while I walk down a sunny street,
it is far time we tear them down,
damned ‘elites’ who are not elite.
Friends get ready. Fourty One percent of the Gold was taken out in kilobars from the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. Over 174 million ounces of gold. The Rich are taking their gold out of the banks. Suggesting a collapse of the Banking system. You won't hear this in the Main Media. Remember Actions speak louder than words, and actions bring a reality of what is taking place. One more thing we know they were the Elite, because they were taken out in Kilobars. Each bar is worth 57,506.00 to buy, roughly price value.
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God bless you all, stock up on dry goods also.
Michael Tor.
It churns the pit of my stomach
that monsters who used to hide in caves
are now standing on the world stage
as ruling elites
preaching right and wrong to our faces
while they chew on the flesh of our children
and turn them into their playthings
in the darkest hour of hell.
Monsters that used to hide in caves
are the faces of masked morality…
and we’re still pretending not to see.
The day before the storm
Protests fall on deaf ears
The master's voice rings
The rest is mere noise
Cars run helter skelter
Ready to park tomoro
Water cannons to stun
Neath the gas, tears
End game, bigger than us
Masks evil planners
Mere cogs in a wheel
Turned by hidden hands
Watchers and doers
Prepare for peace
Haters fund goons
To disrupt disonnance
Here we go again
Battling each other
From afar, elites watch
On TV and internet
Scramble for wealth
You will not last
The hands of time
Change your form
The law stands tall in marble halls,
Blindfolded, scales in measured hands,
Yet whispers travel through its walls
Whose weight determines where it lands?
Was law conceived to shield the frail,
To be a staff for limping feet?
Or forged as iron, firm and pale,
For strong hands only, cold and neat?
They say the law protects the weak
But pause, and ask the deeper truth:
Who carved its words, who made it speak?
The Strong and Mighty not hunger, age, nor youth.
Why would the mighty draft a rule
That bends their crown, dissolves their might?
Why sharpen laws as self-made tool
To dim their power, dull their light?
The Mighty write laws, the Strong enforce,
They judge, interpret, jail, and fine;
They ride the law as mounted horse
While weak men walk the thorned line.
Thus justice limps when titans clash,
Files stall, proceedings drift and sleep;
But swift it strikes with thunderous lash
When weak meets weak there is no hill to keep.
Corruption oils the rusted scale,
Gold tips the balance, truth grows thin;
The poor man’s plea is bound to fail
Where bought verdicts quietly win.
If law must end this age-old wrong,
It must unlearn the rank of birth;
No class too weak, no class too strong
All equal tenants of the earth.
Let strength appear as humble clay,
Let weakness rise, made bold and sure;
Let law become a common way
Where every wound can find a cure.
Let conscience sit, not bribe nor fear;
Let learned minds refuse to travel
The crooked road corruption clears.
Till justice serves not power or name
But truth alone, exact and plain,
The law remains a titled game
Where weak men lose and strong men gain.