By Amos Greywind
Scorn burns within ones soul,
As their eyes darken with vice,
They become savage and cruel,
They become monster from mice.
Their fists ball, soaked with rancor,
The gates to hell swing wide and darken the skies,
And the blood within their veins doth boil,
As they distort, twist, and bend through its lies.
From peace they become war,
From absolute they become tainted,
From generous they become ravenous,
So that all that once was pure has fainted.
The fiend within the mind,
Taints the body and sense,
It drives us to derangement,
It drives us over the fence.
It is detestation,
It is malevolence,
It is enmity,
It is abhorrence.