Vanderwolf:
Code of the Grifter-Builder
Black Pearl
Spectrum Wave Publishing
Copyright@2026
In a world gone cold and digital-bare,
A Grifter rules from a titanium chair.
His screen glows blue with encrypted light—
A silent theft, performed by night.
No vaults he cracks, no masks he wears,
Just lines of code and phantom shares.
A cold world-wide his net is cast,
From crypto-shadows fading fast.
Each algorithm, sly and neat,
Transfers the wealth from street to seat.
if (poor) { withdraw(hope) }—a cruel command,
While gold blooms soft in his gloved hand.
He trades in trust, in influence sold,
In phantom coins and promises bold.
A billion here, in foreign lands,
Paid out in invisible strands.
---
Watch how the numbers dance and rise:
while (nation.sleeps) { harvest(public.good) }—disguised
As growth, as trade, as destiny’s course,
While he reroutes the people’s resource.
From Medicare—a ghostly cut—
From food for children, doors once shut.
A million plates left bare, unfed,
While his accounts are richly fed.
A jet from Qatar, sleek and white,
A “gift” that lands in plain daylight.
Then troops deploy, a promised shield—
A policy signed, a battlefield sealed.
---
And every time his balance grows,
A city’s warmth begins to close.
A factory shuts, a clinic fades,
As wealth is drawn to offshore shades.
They call him Senate, call him Rome—
They cheer the empire he’s brought home.
But who built high those marble halls?
The ones who answered when he calls
The ones who lost their health, their bread,
While he dined richly, softly fed
On favors sold and tariffs killed,
On futures traded, dreams fulfilled.
---
Why do they praise his cunning name?
Why wear his logo, burn his flame?
Because he speaks in graphs and gains,
In quarterly reports and lanes
Of endless growth, of rising tides—
But whose boat sinks, and who abides?
The poor man’s tax, the worker’s sweat,
Are digits in a secret debt.
No leak you’ll hear, no siren sound—
Just wealth transferred, and hearts unbound
From hope, from care, from common grace,
Replaced by his stone, starless face.
---
And still the cold code spreads its roots,
In policy and prized pursuits.
From Vietnam’s resorts to UAE’s gold,
A story bought, and sold, and told.
Each transaction bears a chain—
A hospital bed, a child’s pain,
A meal removed, a check unsigned—
All logged and locked, and redesigned.
Till all that’s public, all that’s shared,
Is pixel-dust and empty air.
And he, enthroned in data streams,
Rules over vanished community dreams.
---
Final Stanza:
So builds the empire, strong and vast,
On algorithms meant to last.
The treasury bleeds a silent red—
The Grifter lives, the poor are dead.
And in the cold, unblinking glow,
The world becomes his great Roman show.
While far below, in dark and drift,
Lies every sacred, stolen grift.
---
Crafted in the era of the ghost ledger,
where every fortune is a silent debt,
and every emperor is a code-embedded grifter.
