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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Experience · #2077763
The bane of hate.

This holier than thou,
Praise the Lord yet 
spread the hate
seems to be magically
in my clan
and elsewhere, behavior
disgraceful, like farting
at Olive Garden
or exposing oneself
at a funeral.
(The dead know nothing.)
Cold, sterile, pithy plastic
holed aplenty (microscopic)
like an old Rush CD
scratched and chipped
by careless brats
flailing amok
in Cape Cod attic.
So much foam and froth
from lips less respect,
like rabid dogs
(the dead know nothing)
though dogs, at least
are open to a trick or two
not unlike some good book
thumpers, preacher men or lambs
mislead, those who fawn a lot.
(I had a cousin once.)
Hate her choice, advocating
murder, (Gays should be shot)
Hell her tired threat
so I’ll not give ten cents
or twenty Euros for her time.
Dead to me ’cause love shines
bright and death too cold 
for anytime.  Like a chicken,
turning round and round in the
, cooking in hatred‘s heat,
basting in the juice of arrogance.
(Life looks tall beside the dead.)

40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp

--magically multiplying
--an old Rush CD
--twenty Euros
--chicken, turning round and round in the grill

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2077763