For the Sons of the West


For the Sons of the West


I. Unbecoming Men Who Strove with Gods


They came of age the heirs of ruin,

When remnants of the West were carrion

To a ravening madness, a fear whose name

Their fathers knew but feared remember, for shame

Had so unmanned them, and degradations

By degrees for generations

The Enemy bred them to embrace and cherish.

The virtues of their forebears so would perish,

And with them any memory of their worth

As nations or the race from whom came forth

A civilization peerless and sublime.

To this end the Enemy over time

By sophistry, by trickery and theft

Had sabotaged their minds, until bereft

Of truth the sons of Europe were slaves

Most base, slaves who swore on their lives

They were free. But how was it possible

These descendants of captains of impassible

Waters, surveyors of oceans by sail

And continents by wheel, who with steel

In hand and heart explored the earth

And made of the wilderness a hearth,

Who apprenticed sons to build cathedrals,

Engineered the wing’s dihedrals

Mastering flight and stood upon the moon

To witness earthrise over its horizon

Had been reduced to little more than cattle?

Did they lose some catastrophic battle?

In truth it was not force of arms that wasted

Western men to a domesticated,

Cringing lot. Since Thermopylae

Had been tested and refined their soldiery

Until none more fierce or dread existed.

And though for centuries they enlisted

Against their European cousins

For territories, thrones or petty reasons

Masquerading as religion,

The pace of their martial invention

And deterrent had grown mythic,

Their formidable peace a monolithic

Culture spanning nations, an aegis

Sheltering all varieties of genius.

Symphonies and libraries rose after hordes

Of saracens bent on being lords

Of Europe had been bloodily repulsed.

Vlad Tepes dined where they convulsed

In a forest of pikes to teach them terror.

Winged Hussars proved their error

At Vienna. No, not from without

Was the European soul’s redoubt

Overtaken, but from within the Enemy

Began to undermine it with an enmity

Unfathomed by the conscience

Of his host in depth and patience.

The Germanics’ oath of hospitality

Or doctrine of Christian charity

Offered him, a seeming humble stranger,

Asylum, and imposing ever longer

On that goodwill he conspired to prey

On every mortal weakness, through bribery

And subterfuge and flattery called counsel

Gaining trust and power in council

Till at last he held the purse of nations,

And by and by their destinations,

In his hands. By his leverage of debt

Their treasuries, lands and wills were forfeit

To his benefit, and legislatures

More and more became his creatures

And their laws became his laws,

Written to serve the Father of Lies.

Economies were his, and then the Press

Aggressively he made his business.

The engines of truth used by Luther

He owned, and now he was the author

Of the public mind, of history the editor.

His advantage knew no competitor.

While common folk tried to live their lives

In peace, his propaganda struck knives

In their hearts, inciting them with fears

Against their brothers. In America years

Of  civil warfare desolated families

For his profit, yet his prophet Marx gave rise

To the Bolsheviks and their paranoiac lists

Of innocents marked for the Chekists

To murder in the name of brotherhood.

Their westward tide of slaughter was withstood

Only after two enormous wars laid waste

In a generation many bloodlines of the race.

From Weimar’s broken humiliation

Noble Germany had arisen

Like a captive lion remembering

His strength and made of the circus ring

A reckoning for his spirit’s sake.

For his pride the Enemy vowed to make

Him cower, and marshaling all his proxies

Bled him, beat him down in democracy’s

Name. But in their rise and furious going down,

Germany’s sons like Leonidas had shown

A bold Aryan few, unbowed, unbought,

Could by true inspiration be wrought

Into lightning and his nemesis.

They reminded him of sacred justice,

And for this between the jaws of his vise

Of hate-blind armies in his service

He seized their fatherland. From the air

He razed their cities with satanic fire

And burned their homes and loved ones alive

While in the sky and fields and streets they gave

Their last. His fictions assured his minions

Their cause was just, his orders starving millions,

His occupiers defiling mothers and daughters

In marathons of lust and hate. With laughter

They vandalized anything beautiful.

Monuments, churches, museums full

Of statuary they made rubble,

Become in victory his lawless rabble.

In the desolation they called peace

He determined never, never to release

Any Aryan soul from the affliction

Of his reckless hate and its direction

To the end of demoralization.

As a century before the Southern nation

In America had been subdued,

Soon guilt and shame became the food

All Western children by his media

Were fed, now new technologies were ready

Vectors for this mass transmission.

His cinema and television

Perfected this deep subversion

Sold as novelty and mere diversion.

The frame of civilization was bent

Even as every advancement

Of Aryan science was promoted

As proof that free people who voted

Had won the great struggle of history

And were bound, together, for glory.

As Wernher von Braun raised America

To space, Marxist esoterica

From decadents the Reich had silenced

Emerged and were suddenly ensconced

In the academy. His psychologists,

Critics, philosophers, apologists

For every perversion of tradition

And natural order took their mission

Seriously, and from their campus

They sent forth without compass

A great wave of students intent

On drowning the stricken Occident

In chaos they learned to call progress.

Marcuse gave them license to regress

To beastial sex and mock the family,

The cradle of self, as anomaly.

His anthropologists professed the races

Have no meaningful differences

And so to prefer one’s own kin and kind

Was evidence of a backward mind.

He trained the nation to venerate

His fraudulent puppet degenerate

With the weight of Martin Luther’s name,

Then made him a martyr to defame

Any decent man opposing his vision

Of “social justice” or the decision

Of enemy lawyers and judges

To force fast-maturing savages

By law into school with his daughter.

For this the stormers of Normandy fought?

His “feminists” freed girls from their dignity

For lives of self-abuse and promiscuity.

Equality was his new religion,

And its priests never ceased to bludgeon

All things naturally excellent and true

To make their melting pot’s insipid stew.

When his politicians unhinged the gates

Of white America by their statutes,

The deluge from the lesser world began,

Each squatting alien equal to a man

Whose father’s father’s father signed with blood

The plan for his descendants’ nationhood.

To accelerate this national dilution

The Enemy used deception and illusion

As before, his confidence never greater

In the power of his demonic theater

Over a degraded population.

He broadcast live on every station

The brazen, calculated murders

Of two thousand souls among the girders

Of gigantic towers he demolished,

Then celebrated as his golem rushed

Obediently to attack the muslim tools

He fingered. The mind-rape of his fools

For mass conditioning was brutal

Past telling but control was not total,

For Aryan genius had lately created

An information medium that defeated

His stranglehold on what could be known,

And through this brief window were thrown

To minds among the somnolent and feral

Seeds of awareness of their peril.

The truth that in their ready soil took root

Would curse and bless and make resolute

That generation destined again to be,

Grown among ruin, a mighty tree.


II. Tho’ Much is Taken


Even as the infernal desert wars

His orchestrated false-flag terrors

Lit consumed naive young Western lives

To enlarge his middle-eastern hive

And agitate real terror in the West,

Even as the cause of the jihadist

Justified his surveillance apparatus

To put in doubt every citizen’s status,

And even as despite the dangers

Of their incendiary angers

His treasonous leaders opened borders

Of Western nations to the surging hordes

Of immigrants he set in motion…

Curiously at first, without emotion,

The vanguard of the new millennium

Came to learn what had been done to them.

They awoke from their entrainments,

From medicated stares, the entertainments

Diabolically designed to kill

Their energies, eros, time and will

To act in their own interest in the world.

They learned their manhoods were curtailed

By artificial diets, environments

That in promising convenience

All but sterilized them, while the girls

And women of Europe, their natural

Mates and humanity’s most refined,

Whored themselves and happily aligned

Against them with their existential rivals,

Casually risking genetic survival

Of the race. They learned, with growing clarity,

They were meant to become a minority

In their homelands. It was no accident

The Aryan birth rate in the Occident

Had fallen far below replacement

As the issue of teeming Africa was sent

Increasingly to demand asylum,

Deference and every Aryan womb

The Enemy could win for his plan

To breed his global Economic Man.

White fatherhood was everywhere despised

And white men only always feminized

In the anticulture they were given,

Where the world their fathers had striven

To build was built on stolen privilege,

The sum of their majestic knowledge

Nothing more than lies. It began to dawn

The language itself had been made a weapon

Against them, their aesthetics and morals.

The Enemy understood Orwell

Not as a warning but his blueprint,

And at last it came home that his intent

Was no less than their spiritual death

By torture until they confessed that truth

Was calumny, corruption was beauty,

Infertility and sodomy their duty–

The last, bastard, effeminate sons

Begging for their humiliations

Till extinction. Or were they scions

Of civilization, and its champions?


III. That Which We Are


There were greybeards here and there, a neighbor’s

Father, friends of friends, whose quiet labors

On behalf of Aryan posterity

Had been preserving in their rarity

Forbidden books, or conversations

In the small hours free of vague evasions,

Revering an outlawed flag on the wall,

Who offered their longer views of it all

Or advice for getting by day to day

Not catching the unblinking eye

Of the Enemy or his mindless spies.

Some had been trained in his militaries,

Some had been raised to survive in wild country.

Their sons were agile in the digital sea

Of their interconnected medium,

And they used the last days of its freedom

As pirates waging information war

Against his agents in the anticulture.

By monopoly he had maneuvered

Greedily to own it, and as it proved

A true threat he installed his acolytes

And gave them power to snuff the rights

Of Aryan citizens to freely speak.

When a single mercenary freak

Could with his finger consign to oblivion

Free conversation that had been haven

For the dissident sane, or identify

The heretics for attack or to deny

Their livelihoods, they dared to persevere,

Finding in themselves something severe

They had thought lost. Even as they improvised

To safeguard memory, they realized

Any worthy future called them to be hard

In ancient ways, in body and regard

For the iron disciplines of spirit

That over ages they did inherit.

Not as individuals, selfish and vain

As he wanted them, but to regain

As men together this potential

Simply they began by standing tall,

By setting jaws and leveling eyes

To recognize their own or the Enemy’s

Hate in the gaze of his most abject,

As brother one, the other as object

Of adamant contempt, not fear.

To meet the incomprehensible stare

Of violent accusation, they needed

The confidence of undefeated

Men, and this they found in finding

They were living testaments, binding

Once and future greatness of the nation

Whose blood drove them, as by divine action,

To become who they were, and are:

Sons of the sun, fathers of another star.


IV. And Not to Yield


When first they stood the Beast was startled

By a courage he assumed was throttled

In their kind. To resist their erasure

From history and the monstrous nature

Of his cult, they had assembled lawfully

In public space. His masked thralls massed to bully

And assault them in the trap his enforcers

Set for them illegally on his orders,

But they passed his gauntlet like sovereign men

(some only school-age boys), and dared like men

Defend themselves in orderly retreat

From his attack, as is the natural right

Of every creature living on God’s earth.

His sayanim received their money’s worth:

Their media sold the images of violence

To contrive a panic of compliance

With his mendacious version of events–

The deadly Nazi cancer’s reemergence.

In fact it was the death by his commandment

Of these American Aryans’ First Amendment.

Their love for their imperiled heritage

The Enemy announced was “hate”, and in his rage

Demanded all must hate their hate and all

Must hate without exception any soul

Unwise enough to show them sympathy

Or face the trials of his antipathy,

From social exile to the heavy threat

Of laws he promised soon to legislate

Against the merest overheard expression

In defiance of his anti-white suppression.

Thus he sought to isolate these heroes

And make of their potential allies foes.

His craven politicians genuflected

And condemned them, ever his elected

Stooges. The few who would equivocate

Or were too slow to angrily excoriate

The villainous boys were likewise made

Examples. His courts were a parade

Of hysterical shysters, his juries

Anything but peers, their tribal animus

For the accused the real criterion

For their selection. To put fear in

A righteous white man’s eyes–for the Enemy

that sick pleasure inflicting ignominy

On his better, an abomination

Vile as a child-defiler’s predation

To their Creator. But these young martyrs

Denied his appetite. They held their fears

In mastery, even in his System’s maw,

Abiding their Creator’s Higher Law

So resolutely that his show trials

Were not shown on his pervasive channels,

Lest unknown fellow dissidents take courage

From their defiance. Yet quietly courage

Their numberless noble brothers took,

While in his Babel the Enemy shook.


V. In That Annihilated Place


For a lifetime the odious Enemy

Had taken white women and children as prey,

Honor unknown to what passed for his soul.

Long his subversion had sought to control

The Western female mind and so her womb,

To make of it the Aryan future’s tomb

By corrupting the gift that was maternal

Until she either was infertile

Or open only to his feral other,

No less than his slave army’s mother,

No more than a savaged piece of meat,

A trophy for whom no war was fought.

To suit his sadistic appetites,

He abused poor adolescent whites

His fatherless cult wrote off as dross,

And especially these most sadly lost

He trained as bait for the blackmail traps

To which he led his abased satraps

For decades before any pretense

Of justice was made, the evidence

With his agents evanescing as ever,

The distracted public eye glazed over.

His justice likewise had little care

For the Aryan women raped every year

In their thousands by black “American” men

Emboldened by his psy-war campaign

To claim their sexual “reparations”.

In Europe as well the planned invasions

Of homelands for millennia Aryan

Were his sudden “humanitarian”

Emergencies, against whose dark legions

And convoys could be no moral defense.

In Albion brutal, Mohammedan gangs

Used poor British girls for their playthings

With all the arrogant impunity

Of occupiers whose immunity

His captive authorities trembled to expose

Lest their angered master’s media choose

To slander them. So their servile silence

Had approved for these girls a life sentence

Of terror, torture, rape and addiction.

When at last their gutless dereliction

Came to light, thousands of girls ruined

In cities and towns across England

Were their legacy. In London a foreign

Muslim mayor ruled the once great sovereign

City where now British were minority,

Earnestly excusing the temerity

And bloody crimes of his brown immigrants,

As beleaguered Aryan constituents

Were systematically deprived

By a government alien and depraved

Of even household tools and kitchen knives

That might with luck be used to save the lives

Of lawful citizens. All the continent

Suffered thus, as his coils would not relent

But rather tightened as its populations

Fought for breath against the depredations

Of the Enemy’s protected columns.

By the millions his bestial golems

Came, with his unholy blessing and the funds

Wrung from their native hosts, whose nations’ guns

Were trained on their own folk should they protest.

Unconsciously encouraged to molest

Those most docile, trusting and generous–

Germanic peoples raised learnedly helpless

In the syndrome of their historic trauma–

They turned Sweden into Botswana.

The Nordic lands from which berserkers sailed

Had so relentlessly been assailed

Their weak governments could not keep order,

Impotent against the rape and murder

Till where recently they neared utopia

They fell among the worst per capita

For these brutalities. Invasive hordes

Had truly colonized whole neighborhoods,

Swaggering out to rob and victimize

Emasculated Scandinavian boys

As they walked afraid and isolated.

Undefended girls they violated.

Everywhere his Leviathan lorded

Over Aryans the pattern repeated.

In Australia, where seafaring pioneers

Had improvised ploughshares from anchors

To cultivate a godforsaken waste,

Raised cities among the finest in the West,

Here too were ferried his anarchic swarms

To do their descendants barbaric harms,

One hand out for his promised booty,

In the other a raised machete.

And nowhere fell the blade more gory

Than on the farmsteads of the Boer, whose story

Was to be a warning for white kind.

How their success was utterly maligned,

Three centuries of toil to turn the veld

To breadbasket his vicious headlines billed

As theft, agitating black marauders

To the inhuman rapes and slaughters

Of whole Boer families. How the warlords

To whom he gave their first-world nation roared

Contempt for their safety and “privilege”,

Their massacres refusing to acknowledge,

As worldwide his censors served to occult

The truth. If they suffered it was their fault,

His voices hissed, besides it never happened.

But the Afrikaners’ wits were sharpened

By survival in that unforgiving place,

Among the very toughest of the race,

And though his puppet states denied them refuge,

They willed to stand against the evil deluge

In accordance with their way and spirit.

The death blow would not find them unprepared,

But organized in discipline and sworn

To God on the sacred rigors borne

By their forebears’ imperishable faith.

Their gathering fate was but a wraith

Still in the West to many, but to more

Every minute what seemed a nightmare

Resolved itself in daylight as the end

Of all they loved or could love. It was then

Our champions by grace were given fury.

Not despair, not hopeless misery,

but destiny’s transfiguration,

Though all Hell promised annihilation.


VI. What the Thunder Said


Even as rising, rain-redolent wind

And the distant trembling it carries portend

For the wary the coming of storms

Whose energies the most terrible bombs

Cannot rival, so for men in those days

With sense intact the time to agonize

Was past, the facts these lines belabor

Unmistakable signals to prepare.

As a man prepares his family home

To face the hurricane, their wisdom

Shaped all that remained in their favor

For that imminent, momentous war

That would decide the future, the fate

Of the infant not yet risen to his feet.


VII. From this Day to the Ending of the World














“Man Made” by Mark Brahmin and Xurious:



For a different age I was born,

Every man has once said,

Where each was to honor sworn,

Rather to all this cowardice bred,

Thus for a gilded time we mourn,

Insisting such days forever dead.


Yet of all the feelings ever known,

Longing for a time not our own,

Is when true cowardice is shown,

For like dawn light in black sown,

All darkness will be overthrown.


All darkness will be overthrown.


Instead one is given a great gift,

Born in darkness and darkest days,

He’s given trials, mountains to lift,

Aye, the very minotaur in his maze.

He’s called to be strong, to be swift,

A hero upon which his sons gaze.


So appear you king or appear you slave,

Among the good or a people strayed,

With actions now the future pave,

For the coward is he who delayed,

Product of his age, cradle to grave.

But an age makes not: it is man made.


It is man made.




for Kyle Rittenhouse

All summer he saw his country burned

And spat upon and cursed,

Saw lunacy and blood-thirst

For reason and goodwill returned,


Saw governments do nothing

As the Devil’s riot stormed

Unhindered, mindless, frothing

Hate. But he was one informed


By truth and duty, seventeen,

More man than any politician,

So when chaos came to town

He understood his mission.


He knew too many innocents

The mob had beaten bloody

Not to use God-given sense

To sling his rifle ready


As he labored to repair the mess

And clean the filth they left

Or help the helpless in distress

From their violence and theft.


What child-defiler rushed him

When he tried to douse their arson?

What criminal tried to crush him

When bearing arms his person

He defended? Who’s pistol

Did his quick shot sever

From the anarchist tool

In murder’s fever?

On the pavement, on his back

He brought the 556 to bear.

Under close and multiple attack

He taught the mob to fear.

Then he stood and scanned the road,

Checked his weapon in good order,

And toward the lights of Law and Order,

Trusting Justice, strode


Eyes open, cool and steady,

Though hell-on-earth raged to destroy

This promise-raised Midwestern boy,

His rifle at low ready.



The Atlantean Sword




Who set loose dogs on you in the waste

that was your home and judged you broken?

Who stirred the hordes of enemies you faced

When you despaired that hell had spoken?


When you ran and fell in a hole to hide

Your ultimate shame, who made your grave?

Think hard. Where did you lose your pride?

You say it never was yours? Look, slave!


Here! Among these stones that were foundation,

Here still in this giant ancestral hand,

This rune-written blade that mirrors the sun,

Hammered and tempered by men of your land.


Feel its grip and heft, recite its story:

A race of men just, ingenious and bold

Who strode the earth and were not sorry,

Proud free men who would never be sold


Or dishonor themselves stood fast and strove

For you–and here you are, their rightful heir,

On your knees. Get up and stand in love!

Even now in this dark, you can only dare.


Feel the legend in your hands. To fabricate

excuses not to wield its righteous weight

Is cowardice and God will damn it.

This legacy of steel is yours. Claim it.