hate

His Name is Hate

By J. Lynne Moore

He lurks, the Dragon,
playing with his toys,
constructs of human flesh;
supping on the juice of their fear.

As the cat, he pounces!
No shame or regret,
holds him back…
As we sit on our soft chairs of complacency.

Like daily vitamins,
we casually swallow his lies,
drink from his cup of oppression,
closing our eyes to the destruction.

To endure we must…
Shine a flashlight of hope,
onto his vile intent,
and banish him… HATE…FOREVER.

Cashmere Illusions