Poetry

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Yes hate can be a raging storm,
A swelling angry sea,
A tide spilling ore its banks,
A vessel broken free.

Hate can be the longest night,
A soul of pure deceit,
Bitter as a vipers bite,
Who never seeks retreat.

Hate can be a wind swept plain,
Barren desert sand,
A fire far too hot to tame,
If left alone to stand.

A hate filled heart is full of wrath,
Stirred with angers spoon,
Herbs of bitterness served up,
With notes played out of tune.

The salt of hate is but revenge,
Its cup of wine turned vial,
Its fruitless vines hang dieing,
In a garden growing wild.

If bidden hate will rear its head,
To swallow guiltless men,
Its tongue will spread its venom,
To cover up its sin.

Hates a cancer birthed inside,
Both to young and old,
Leaving seeds of death behind,
To feed upon their souls.

Wisdom flees this sort of man,
Knowledge runs to hide,
The only friend that hate can have,
His brother known as pride.

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