Poetry: Dying Breed

[Art]

I'm beginning to loose my patience. Those of us who know our dilemma are one in a million it seems, maybe less. My brow no longer raised, my eyelids settle down, the predator is awake.  The enemy surrounds and the parasite eats away at the white minds still asleep. What might reach they're heart's and alarm  them to the danger we face? What can I do as a white man who knows our plight? I've pointed at the enemy time and time again to find fellow whites pointing there fingers back at me with a screeching clawing act. They're minds are gone, infected with foreign programs, alien agendas, I cannot shake them loose. They are bound in mental chains and shackles. Is they're a key to the shackles or must I watch them disappear?

We are a dying breed
I sounded the alarms and none could hear.
We are a dying breed
Can I be more clear?
We are a dying breed
We are loosing our patience
We are a dying breed
We will survive!
RAHOWA!

[Rev.Cambeul]

When the Nigger turns this phony peace into total Racial War,
Every White man, woman and child will be behind you.
Then we kill every Nigger - Man, woman and child.
The race-traitors will hang - Along with the Jew.

The White man shall forever be Freed and Wild.
Total White Victory - This is Racial Holy War.
RAHOWA is our Creed and future!
Aut Vincere - Aut Mori!

And the future smiles.


That's quatrains in the Nostradamus style - with my own added addition of reduction. Not exactly poetry, but I like the pattern.


"In the beginning of a change, the patriot is a scarce man, brave, hated, and scorned. When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot." Mark Twain.

[Art]

To me, political theatrics exist thanks to those who watch, those who listen, those whom parrot.

They are not consumers, they are consumed, eaten alive, bit by bit.

Those consumed, of our own blood and race, terminally ill yes, perhaps not beyond salvage.

If pain drives you to tempt rescue of our fallen kindred, spoon feed them the truth as you would your own child.

If vengeance fuels your heart, burn in full, be concise, 'ficcient, and look to our past for the futures guiding light.

My propensity for soft rhetoric disgusts me often... Perhaps it's more effective when the tendency to rescue a sleep walking kinsman grabs hold, instantly pick up a large stick, hit him in the forehead or toss him in an icy river... I'm certain that would be more 'fective if I were sleep walking...

[Rev.Cambeul]

Take up boxing. An iron fist fits well with the indefatigable pen.

[Aleister Adams]

We're the few and the very proud. Only the truly mentally and physically strong are gonna survive this race war. The true Aryan will reign supreme.