A Shield of SpiteA Poem by Matt SayerNever have I seen before, Such wild and baseless rage, As the storm that sprang from depths unseen, To enshroud man leather with age. What torment hath awoken him, To dance the devil’s tune? Ensnaring folk by shirt-sleeve grasp, And werewolf bay the moon. The train-wreck crowd plays judge of man, Speaks damnation for his soul. But each and every hush drawn breath, Hides a far more sinister goal. For each man hath this one shared trait, A noose by his hand sewn: To preach the sin of the other man, So loud it masks his own. They profess they live beyond glass walls, Their right to cast first stone. But if such were true, their hearts so pure, What purpose their spiteful tone? © 2013 Matt SayerFeatured Review
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StatsAuthorMatt SayerMelbourne, Victoria, AustraliaAboutI readily and happily admit I am a technology addict; my shelves are as laden with flashy gadgets as they are with mountains of books. During the day I work in IT as an analyst programmer (essentially.. more..Writing
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