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Scornful of the Motives and Virtue of Others

Rest assured

This is sincere

This is trueLet this be my writ of misanthropy

To a thankless world of men

Who have perfected nothing

Save the art of accusationWoe 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 factsHow I miss the warmth of red blood

The color of pitch is cold and hard

And its merciless to the tenderheartedHow I miss the strength of red blood

Its susceptibility to burn jet

And the might to withstand a brutal scorchingHow I have learned to wield this scorched, jet blood

To the gross advantage

This blood must not go to waste

All is not yet lostTake these words of blood ill-tempered

Take these words and

Lut deep, lacerate the soiled flesh

Impact the brittle boneAnd we all will bleed together

May this blood pave the way to solutionWe have all been so wrong

Conditioned to accept and approve of substandard

Communication and behavior

Reason is cloudingHearts are hardening

And the result is murder

This age is grave bound

Likewise its aging successorsAging, 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 fallenAnd man will continue to suffer unto itself

Until some stand to rally the fray by firm exampleChaos must succumb to order

Lest these days be numberedI cannot contribute to disarray

I simply cannot relateLet this be my act of defiance

Let this be my refusal to fit in

Let this be my writ of anthropy

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