Hate Is Not Theater, But We Know Our Lines

Hate is not Theater. But we Know our lines.
Baleful mongers squandering Grace at the behest
Of an Ungrateful Fiction, with Irony’s Teeth
And Doll’s Eyes glaring at the Puppet Master’s strings
To stitch an Excuse to an Impulse
With ancestor hands, chafed by grim and bloodstain
Like windows with dead eyes, locked on a sunset
To best glean the contoursÂ
of a Sunrise
At the scene of our every crime.
We know History will not Lie, but our Bibles might…
So we amend our Treaties to better serveÂ
The demon at hand. The one that we know.
Slouching quazi-cognizantÂ
In all Splendor, War-Minded and About It.
The Way we lose Our Way-
Never Trivial.
The Way We Lose Our Minds...
Classic.
Â
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Comments
"like windows with dead eyes locked on a sunset" great line! cool poem! I believe the only reason our Bibles might lie is because of mistakes of men in translation. thus the HG to guide! enjoyed your poem! too bad hate is so easily embraced! I have to turn away from hate as I know my Savior has my back!....................................................................................Jim
Indeed. Namaste.
What a poem. Intrinsically advanced and deeply intriguing. An interesting point you have taken up. Smiles as always AugustÂ