To Hate

Has ever such an unearthly anger been felt before? A disgust so deep that it takes the light, elegance, and colour out of every possible entity. Rage of such a nature to make all conscious thought and logic become nothing more but than a mere dispondant notion. Where even the steadiest hand tremble and the bluest eyes see only a red worthy of Hell herself. Let it be damned and let it be known for all to see this decrepit reaking harbor of the thickest, sickliest tide. No symphony could capture this tideous temperment of out right vile fortitude. And let the fat necked, pompous, dastardly hang for all that rot is worth. Fleet, oh fleet in the faint sensible thought, a feeling of shame for such inhumane and all putrid descretion of the very sort for the contemplation of one unforgiveable act, but the tide turned I fear too late. The sparrow fell upon the grass by my hand and the wielding of such great hatred's wanton actions. And unbound by the heavens to fall into the river Styx, but the boatman's toll will be forever witheld. A cold sweat to fear for my immortal duality, but steady is my hand as the tea cup graces my lips. Shatter to the floor just as fragile and unbound as my time before judgement and the blackening of my wings.