A specter rises from the ash of grace,
Where godless hammers strike the soul apart,
A creed of iron, cold in heart’s embrace,
That bids the light of Christ to swift depart.
Its promises, like serpents, coil and sing,
Of equity through blood and broken trust,
Yet chains the spirit ‘neath a tyrant’s wing,
And turns the meek to fodder, ash, and dust.
No cross to bear, no mercy’s gentle call,
It builds its throne on graves of sacred law,
A demon’s mask, though veiled as good to all,
Devours the free in hunger’s gaping maw.
So heed this truth: where Christ is cast aside,
A hollow hell in Marxism’s shade abides.