(The Parlour) Haters

F**k the haters.

Haters

And hate

And spite

Filled souls

Walking on green grass

Cutting and corrupting

Beautiful souls

As surly does

Power corrupt

The mind.

 

But I say

No more

Look at them

And see no soul

No joy

No feeling worth a poets hand

No story worth an author

Or life

A grave

 

See a shivered husk of humanity

And then

Only then

Look into the mirror

And see a soul of green and white

And red and black

And colours I cannot even write

See that you’re alive

And hate is poison to your soul

As surly as Cyanide Is to your heart

So why take it?

 

Find the hate and dig it a grave

Bury it in dirt

An unmarked tomb

And leave it in places

Where even time could not care

For it

F**k the fate

And the haters

Time will not remember them

 

Fate will not bless them

Life will betray them.

 

You’re not what they say

You’re what you’re

Now look into that reflection of your soul

A mirror

And smile

And tell me

I was wrong