Hypocritical

The act of

Disarming

A shadow that

Veils the world.

The few

Who bow to praise

Look left from their

Pedestals of stone.

The rare

Who follow

The narrow road

Teeter on the very edge

Of the wide.

The multiple

With bloodstained lips

Do no disguise themselves

But showcase their truths

Before our horror.

The rest raise their heads

And point their filthy fingernails

To those in

Rags.

Kill those on

Death row.

Slaughter those on

The scaffold.

Lift those

Slitting wrists

Over the Nile.

We cannot get rid

Of all who are evil.

None would be left.