The coven

Angry poem eabout people who lack concience.

You are the coat holders, the short of memory
The consort,accsesories, conspirators and thieves.
Three of you are monkeys in denial
Your faces change
One eye between you as you stir
Close fruit indeed, rotten to the core, your heart, the seed.
Evil is hereditary and i am tainted
unable to forget the years.
Hell is roomy for the twisted
I, not divine,but contorted, no not how to live
Your sinfullness appalls me
but damned, I can't forgive.