This poem was submitted to Amerikaner.org by The White. If you would like to submit your own content, please email amerikanercontributions@proton.me
Glorious heroes of myth and legend: Heracles, Alexander, Caesar, Our patron George, Louis the Saint, and Stephen the Great and Holy, We sing your praises until the end of days and imitate your demeanor. Yet but a few can match your greatness, how we are to you so lowly. With nobility, every virtue is yours, and every vice you do not possess, Achilles and Hector, Belasarius and Totila, Wellington and Napoleon, We mourn that fratricide is thine duty for which you must acquiesce, But the death you waged mobilized dreams, not the talk on a podium. Names there are without limit, tears flow for not all are remembered, Yet there always in the midst lies the demonic, the ignoble, the weak. Cain cursed the world with the first treason, virtue now dismembered. Anetor spitting in the face of all Trojan heroes, grew his hooked beak. Subsequent to the treason waged by Judas against dear Christ our Lord, The forces of cowardice and lies die on the Cross without resurrection. Alas, but the traitor has now gained the whole world across the board, Nothing gained compared to what is lost: honor, soul, and perfection. Blind we were to intrigue and weak we were to vile poisonous vice, It was so the eternal fraud and trickster brought our folk to its knees. Death to the avaricious pigs who sell their children for a good price! For is this not how the enemy triumphs and doth all he please? Monsters and beasts who but infinite misfortunes deserve naught! We must make their names forgotten thus that their death doubles! Horror, horror! The mirror is raised, and the villain flaunts all he got, It is from within our folk that this fiendish crime boils and bubbles! Kinslayer! Moved are you by lust, greed, despair, envy, sloth, or pride? Believest yourself just in ignoring thousands of years of blood? Comforted by your throne of living corpses and your foreign bride? Your crown of chaff shall burn and your body ground into the mud! Your face turns purple as on your brother’s blood you gag and choke, No more spit on Augustus and Trajan, on Constantine and Justinian, On Vercingetorix and Theodoric, heroes from every side of our folk, Your peace with kin and with God shall be nothing but Carthaginian. As your soul passes from your body into hell, none for you shall mourn, Master the world further you shall not, as heroes echo through eternity, And inspire a thousand generations, the traitor is less than dust on corn. Inspired none shall be by the wicked frauds as we pass from modernity. As the eternal legacy of heroes triumph over the perfidy of the traitor, Forever must we be possessed by vigilance so none more do this, Thus that none may say again, not today, not tomorrow, not later, “And you, Brutus?”