Bah, Humbug! (An Xmas Anti-Poem)

Author's Note: For information on the Pagan roots of Christmas, this brief but insightful article is recommended: The Shamanic Origins of Christmas.

Or, for a more in-depth and very eye-opening look, this documentary spells it out perfectly: The Pharmacratic Inquisition.

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Bah, Humbug! (An Xmas Anti-Poem)

Hum·bug (noun):
1. Something intended to delude or deceive.
2. The quality of falseness or deception.
3. A person who is not what he or she claims or pretends to be; an impostor.
4. Something devoid of sense or meaning; nonsense: a humbug of technical jargon.

- I -

You see, Santa's just another version of the man in the sky;

A magical equation on which they bank for us to buy.

Despite crisis and recession — let childhood desires fly!

Long-standing tradition isn't something we question, why?

- II -

Because the unthinking parent offering their offspring to that secular idol at the mall isn't really doing it for the youngster (who'd be better off given proper guidance) BUT to satisfy their own inner child.

They repeat a cycle of indoctrination into Capitalist customs: Preparing another generation of consumers for dwindling resources (which could run out before we realize it).

- III -

Keep going, it's fine

This world has always been thus

Overbrimming with stupidity

Without shortage of cupidity

Keep towing party line

Present is blessed as future cussed

The dead are unaccountable

For their Humbug, insurmountable!

Image: The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come ...

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Alive Alone

Alive Alone

Was dead inside without you
Dragging a thousand empty days
No one else here speaks truth
To a pariah lost mid haze

Yet this scoundrel springs eternal
Both nocturnal and diurnal
There's plenty to be said
But let's keep it cryptic instead...

Constant state of rediscovery
Permutations occur in isolation
Island transformed as a sovereign nation
Waylaid by fate on the road to recovery

Eldest redwoods aren't heard falling
Except by a lone Hermit or Hierophant
Everyone else poses questions too elegant
To actually answer their true calling.

So let's break format — forsaking any argument
Being in love with oneself isn't really that appalling;

Advaita!

We are each other after all
And who'll play the gods if not us, lively starling?

Major Arcana - The Hermit

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