Scornful Of The Motives And Virtue Of Others

Rest assured

This is sincere

This is true

Let this be my writ of misanthropy

To a thankless world of men

Who have perfected nothing

Save the art of accusation

Woe is he that feels compelled to pen

Even one word of hatred

I know the hate within passion

With which I love is a travesty

Let this writ acknowledge these facts

How I miss the warmth of red blood

The color of pitch is cold and hard

And it's merciless to the tenderhearted

How I miss the strength of red blood

Its susceptibility to burn jet

And the might to withstand a brutal scorching

How I have learned to wield this scorched, jet blood

To the gross advantage

This blood must not go to waste

All is not yet lost

Take these words of blood ill-tempered

Take these words and

Cut deep

Lacerate the soiled flesh

Impact the brittle bone

And we all will bleed together

May this blood pave the way to solution

We have all been so wrong

Conditioned to accept and approve of substandard

Communication and behavior

Reason is clouding

Hearts are hardening

And the result is murder

This age is grave bound

Likewise, its aging successors

Aging, all the while, descending

Developing an even more insatiable thirst for chaos

Life among hyenas and asps under vultures

That pick at the corpses of the fallen

And man will continue to suffer unto itself

Until some stand to rally the fray by firm example

Chaos must succumb to order

Lest these days be numbered

I cannot contribute to disarray

I simply cannot relate

Let this be my act of defiance

Let this be my refusal to fit in

Let this be my writ of anthropy