No longer among your significant few.
Raw lump of stake left on the hang.
Clear in view, metal hook large and severe.
Deep spike bites deeply drawing blood
From the shrivelled roots of the supporting stump.
Bare hands hungry and decapitated,
blistering upon the veined cracks.
No love survives in this wasteland,
Tiny ants to be trodden on.
Hatred's war ship bigger than a million lies.
Hatred makes us despise, that which we are not.
Not in hatred then is my hate,
Fools gold diverts our attention.
This is love. My love masquerading in disguise!
A masked ball where hatred's colours glare bright red.
Gleeming on the talons of whitered love.
(c) By: B 03/05/06
posted by Burcu Urundul @ 11:23 pm
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