Throw not your dart of hate


What is it about my proud air

that draws out such evil intent,

that brings you here, with your

curled spiteful lips and narrowed

bellicose stare. Can you not give

thanks you are not so afflicted,

as a man whole you should be

content. What barbs of fate

have snagged your heart, pierced

your mind with such a bitter bane,

that amusement can be found in

wanton hate. I can grant you respite,

throw not your foul dart, for I have

my ego slain. Such is the armour

I wear that neither sword or spear

can my sanctuary breach. Take heed

poor creature, listen and fear, evil

sent always returns thrice fold.

To you ‘change’ I beseech,

consider yourself told.

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