I am not like other men.

I’ve no wish to pretend

to be what women like..

I am on a love strike!

For love is lies and dust

powered by our very lust.

To lose oneself to romance

is to be crazed by fragrance

of creatures poisonous

that wish to toy with us.

Where is the spirit of freedom

when faced with endless serfdom?

Some would scream ‘But wait!

Don’t you wish to procreate?’

To them I say ‘Observe!

See how much you have to serve!’

I know what I deserve.

My mind and work I will preserve.

But to spread my genes

and finance beyond my means

people thinking they’re queens,

to fulfill empty dreams -

of madness it all screams!

Tell me all your petty lies,

true intentions in disguise.

Spare me your cries

and pathetic tries

to make me serve you –

you will never deserve to

What lies in your psyche –

deep down, you don’t like it.

You gravely fear being alone,

saying my heart is made of stone,

but you’re a hypocrite to the bone.

At the sight of trouble, you are gone.

If men knew of their servitude

they would not be destitute

and with great magnitude

they would serve their own good.

But what they would, should or could

is easily misunderstood.

Perhaps one day we’ll see

the setting of men free

to experience and to be

those who clearly see

the nature of reality

through all the banality

and the reality of nature

to avert cataclysmic danger!