Legendary Historical Bullshit

By Benjamin Shapiro
Want to hear a story,

From not so long ago?

Tis about man’s glory;

Don’t you want to know? 

It’s all a lie, I wish to tell,

But you’ll swallow it whole, 

You would follow me to hell 

For a tale well told,

Because man’s glory is a lie,

One which we like to hear,

It soothes much better by and by,

Than truths stabbing your ears. 

So gather round for heroes bold,

And damsels in distress,

Great white saviours of old,

The ones who got us in this mess. 

This true lie myth upon which

We build societies,

Leave out the parts that are a bitch,

No room for intricacies. 

The brush is large with which I paint,

Details will not do,

I’ll make a demon ‘to a saint,

And you will say, “thank you.”

So here’s the tale, free of charge,

Full of danger and mystery, 

It will make your heart grow large:

Your country’s history.


Meaningless All 

By Benjamin Shapiro
Too many words, 

With too little meaning,

Birthed by bilious birds, 

Not worth gleaning, 

Songs by guttural voices,

Endless pages written,

Too many meaningless choices, 

Truths cannot be bidden,

A whisper among angry screams

Can be heard no more, 

A cacophony of bullshit teems,

Words become as whores,

And truth unwritten and unsaid,

Isn’t truth at all,

And when the final writer’s dead,

We’ll wonder at the fall.

9/11/16 Years On

By Benjamin Shapiro
Woke that morning

Stretched, yawned, 

Surprisingly not hungover, 

From a cavalier college night. 

Sun shining bright 

Promise of beauteous day,

Walk into common room,

Roommate sits, glued

To TV news, odd

Because he’s not

Of that mind. 

“A plane,” he tells me, 

“Has hit a tower.”

I watch as his eyes

Fill with fear and

Behind him,


The second plane


Sun shines. 

Fires burn. 


Will ever 

Be the same.

The Dice Game 

By Benjamin Shapiro
He closed his eyes and all was black, but then the red snuck in,

The blood of Christ, toss of the dice, a lifetime full of sin,

He was world weary, but not world wise, 

The bones they showed him serpents eyes

And out upon that darkened road,

Upon his shoulders was set a load,

A cross to bear he could not lift,

Some call it curse, some call it gift,

He called it hell, for which he paid,

Looks up to heaven, but cannot pray,

Gathers his dice, with pittance to bet,

Tosses again without regret

And gone was his everlasting soul,

Wasted on that one last roll.

If the World Should End 

By Benjamin Shapiro
Going to stretch myself awake 

Cobwebs I need to shake,

Big cuppa, I take it black,

No more looking back 

As I run towards the sun’s rays,

Because if the world shall end tomorrow,

I’ll live for today. 
Picnic lunch with my lovely wife,

Nothing wrong in my life,

Boats can capsize

Waters can rise, 

I’ll just swim and play,

Because if the world shall end tomorrow,

I’ll live for today. 
Kids hear bedtime stories

To alleviate their worries, 

Through the air missiles dash,

Landing with a flash, 

And with my girls I will stay,

Because if the world shall end tomorrow, 

I’ll live for today. 
It’s all over now,

Without a whimper, but a pow,

Window’s closed,  no more bets,

But there are even less regrets,

For the world ended today,

But I lived yesterday.

Evening Prayer 

By Benjamin Shapiro
May the world wake peacefully in the morn,

May the downtrodden be reborn,

May the sun shine on this earth,

And the evil experience rebirth, 

May we all love each other tomorrow, 

Banishing hatred and sorrow,

And may the rains wash away

The dirt and tears of today,

To whomever is listening I pray.


By Benjamin Shapiro
The space between 

Misanthrope and empath

Is very thin,

Feelings weigh down sparse string,

Sympathy bent becomes wrath. 

Wrath, an easy sin. 

Anger isn’t hate

At least not right away,

Not until it’s to late,

The string frays. 

Then breaks

Empathy shakes

Hatred takes

A strong hold. 

The tale is old:

Exhausted stars explode.

Sense Memories Nonsense 

By Benjamin Shapiro
Heard a song from my youth,

It smelled of cigarettes and whiskey

Tasted of unspoken truths

Felt like exploits risky 

But didn’t feel that way

In those youthful days

Where mortality stayed

Far, far away

And we swayed

Drunkenly to songs,

Masculine and strong 

All night long;

Back before it went wrong. 

And I look back,

Try to paint it black, 

But in truth it was good. 

Life, then, was very good.

The Misanthrope 

By Benjamin Shapiro
The beauty of the misanthrope 

Is that, to all sides, he says nope. 

Liberal, hippies, hate you all;

Conservative Nazis, your ideas are balls. 

Give to your charity, probably not. 

As far as he’s concerned, you all can rot,

For the misanthrope sees you’re all full of it,

And he’s completely tired of your shit.

Be Careful What You Work Towards

by Ben Shapiro 
He had dreamed his whole life of this: time travel. Ironically, the very technological leaps which were making this trip possible were the reason he wanted to travel back. The world had become encumbered by too much communication, too much information, too much artificial intelligence. The human mind wasn’t ready for this and society had become a Hobbesian nightmare. Benjamin Moorehouse dreamed of leaving this cold, electronic world behind and travelling to the world of which Herman Melville wrote, or even the British countryside of Thomas Hardy. As he flipped switches on the console, he thought of a world where one could be anonymous and flit in and out of stories, building his life as he saw fit. His heart fluttered with the anticipation as he stepped into the chamber. The machine hummed calmly as the door closed behind him. Suddenly, he was gone. 
At the same moment, a tombstone appeared at the cemetery across town. Nobody noticed, it was as if it had been there the whole time. It read:
Benjamin Moorehouse

???- 1820

Showed Up Out of Nowhere

Died Soonafter of Dysentery 
The End