Dreams of a Prophet.

Haunted by visions in his sleep...glimpses beyond the veil...a prophet dreams in color... like Eziekial he sees the wheel within the wheel of wheels...he writes his nightmare in the candle-light...from the bread and circuses of Rome...wine, women, and song...sing praises to your master...with the dark, militant, shadow of Ceaser looming in the back-ground...pay your penance and your dues or he will exile you into the barren lands like the children of Kaine...from the genocide and enslavement of the Cainanites to the the modern Palastinians the 'chosen people' of 'Isreal' have been repeating this cycle of violence for too many thousands of years...and my main lament is that the new promised land...Isreals spawn...the United States of Ameria...has fully endorsed this fascist nation and their endevours...even fighting for their statehood...supporting them militarily in their genocide in Iraq and Afganistan...and maintaining their police state in the Gaza strip...Just as Isreal was bought and sold to Egypt and Syria witch made Jeramiah cry, Joel ran crazy from the locusts, and Hosea married and prostitute and wrote a sad song everytime she left him and compared the whole 'love' story to Jews trading with Gentiles... Corporations are the new states...the impersonal power structure...The United States of America is an illusion...it always was...it does not in reality exist... but is in actuallity just another blood cult... a silly flock of sheep corralled by their own fears with an evil shephard that tells them what they want to hear...as he leads them sheared and shorn to the slaughter starting with the first-born spot'less blameless sacrifice...the high priest get the choiisest cuts of the meat...and the virgin daughters of Cain are parcels among the officers along with the cloak of the prophet who blasphemed their blood-thirsty god of war...Who is this god who requires blood for the remission of sins and who are you to stand in judgement of me a peace-ful man...what sin is greater than the shedding of blood...Why must you crave the blood of the innocent? The blood of my people crys out from the ground....the machine that subsists on the remnants of organic life...the sludge from the bones of the ancient rulers of the earth...a mechanical virus, an alian perspective that separates the landscape and its inhabitants into 'crops', herds, and property and places it's throne above the earth... endevouring to rule over it with the might of his hands...you do not belong here... I will crush your head with my heel.