The West Bleeds Vengeance (a poem)

In the west it does not rain
But instead the skies bleed vengeance
A primitive sacrifice of virtue
Upon the altar of regression disguised as revision.

One thousand years of enslaving the world
Only to become enslaved by an empty conscience
There is no guilt
Only self-servitude.

It is a self-servitude that is both avaricious and self-defeating
It is the battle without aim and the loss after warning
It is a disregard to both cautious and reactive instinct
It is the scapegoating of science before a veil of shame.

The west is a culture bleeding vengeance
But for whom is this vengeance wrought upon?
Who did them wrong?
Who made them so uniquely callous?

How is it that pragmatism is a sin in the cradle of hedonism?
How is it that charity is contrived in the unploughed fields of mass rape?
How is it that reason and logic are banned in this place…
This place that bleeds vengeance and little else.

How can one expect sympathy when one is the oppressor?
How can one expect forgiveness when he chants epithets at the very concept of victimhood?
How can laws written by the lawless
be enforced by those not fit to judge a dying dog?

In the west there is no harvest but there are imports
Why then does the merchant spit upon the creator of these imports?
Colonial habits die hard
In fact they do not die at all
They are transformed into loathing just as the mouse loathes the cat

In the west everything original is labelled “foreign”
And everything labelled foreign is made to be domesticated
Like a dog without testacies or a lion in a cage.
The last virtuous man will be chained and laughed at as a monkey in a zoo.
For this is how the west seeks entertainment.

In the west the sun neither sets nor rises
Everything is caught in a post-industrial hue of bleak anticipation
But there is nothing left to presume or assume
So like pigs before slaughter they merely consume

The west is bathed in vengeance and the Lamb is sacrificed
Men have become like beasts and feel no mercy
Women like harlots and feel no pride
Children like donkeys and feel no remorse

The west bleeds vengeance
But hatred cannot be exported forever.
After the fire will come peace,
And thus the sun shall rise forever in the East.

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