Dysfunction spreads like mould, covering
the crumbling edifice of our cultural empire.
Neither ice not fire can slow the decay.
O tempora, or mores*, everywhere
the whore is triumphantly showing the way
and Babylonian self indulgence makes more sense
in this world of abundance than stoic asceticism
or monastic self denial. Depravity is virtue
as we abandon without compunction
ancestral values imprest on our psyche
and using tricks learned from the Sophistics
turn weakness into strength, appeasing enemies
and yielding to seditionits. Can humanity survive
like rats or cockroaches, living low? Can the nation
endure a fall from the top rung of the ladder.
Have we forgotten who we are?
The children of Hercules, of Caesar,
Vercingertorix and Erik Bloodaxe.

We are not made to cower, kneeling before power,
but to confront the swaggering tyrant.
And so we did, and remained dominant for all our faults
until the terrible tryanny of weakness
planted decadence deep within the body politic
and bound us in politically correct chains.
Google is out teacher, the internet our library
tighly controlled streams of information
mislead and deceive us. Half truths
and propaganda are the litany of our lives.

Nobody can be honest, nobody can speak out,
telling the truth as they see it because honesty
is insensitive and opinions may offend.
All the while as we yield to bullies bluster
and bend before the despot's might
and when rivals take what is rightly ours
we meekly ask if we can give them more.

The virtues of steadfastness and endurance
are subsumed beneath a weakling's desire to be loved.
No warrior may weild a sword in defence of our tribal home,
we dare not insult the attacker by resisting.
instead we fight on the side of those who would destroy
all our nations have built, hoping they will reward
pusillanimity with friendship. The modern warlord's
weapons of choice are a pen, a spreadsheet,
statistics and a negotiator's bifurcated tongue.
These weapons of politically correct vacillation
will never be adequate to defend against
the onslaught that will surely come.
The guardians are hamstrung by their own leaders.
As we face those who would lay waste
to Graeco Roman tradition. The enemy within,
the people who counsel against Nordic self posession
and mock the ancient code of duty by their eagerness
to collaborate, will claim weakness has
secured peace and honour can be found in slavery.
 
*What times, what customs - Marcus Tullius Cicero
 

 I call poems in this style "monologues" and so they are, being intended as spoken word pieces. I will be recording them as soon as I have finished converting an audio studi into a video studio.