Whispers

To you whose whispers are concealed from the rest of the world.
Stabbing backs with your sidekicks,
And doing to others what you wouldn't permit done to you.
Judging character where there's not enough known to judge,
And concealing your ugliness with a mask of false kindness.
But no one can persecute only you for this crime,
For it is us all, the entire human race.
Our blood is poisoned with this disease,
Which will bring us all down in the end.

Reviews

[Edward Clay]

well, here's a highly misanthropic piece. i liked it up until the end; you had held it with a good deal of imagery, then you just told us the ending. Personally, i feel it would have been better if imagery had been continued, and the reader was left to feel and taste the embitterment instead of simply being told it. thats my only critique, but apart from that, fine poem. i hope not all the people you meet and know are like this though and that you get proven wrong, ;)

[WhoaitSarah]

Wow. I love this.

It makes me think.

Very good.

[J.P. Bristow]

first of all I love the font....now onto the meat of your work....its a truthful topic bordering on rage..but because of its length does not sound like a rant......I love the honesty of it. Well done...and welcome to the cafe.

-jules

[Jet Lag]

wow, the universe is speaking so gently yet so clearly to me tonight. i just read a poem about death, then a wonderful story about blooming where you are planted... or stuck, and now your poem. i'm dealing with exactly what you wrote about... backstabbers who just floor me with their rudeness. i'm a trusting person and just get burned for my faith in others, like a white witch. thank you so much for your encouragement.

--for me this week, these words hit it right on the nail:
To you whose whispers are concealed from the rest of the world,
Stabbing backs with your sidekicks,
And doing to others what you wouldn't permit done to you.
Judging character where there's not enough known to judge.
Concealing your ugliness with a mask of false kindness.