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Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Disease of the Soul



Oh man,
Your eyes are a venomous blue—
And when you speak,
Your mouth spews forth diamonds
As if you were speaking before kings.
Your tongue is smooth like butter—
Your lips like honey.
How sweet your words taste
To the woman unknowing.

Oh man,
You are full of arrogant pride and alibis.
You are a fickle lover
Who walks with a heaviness
In the hurt that you hide.
Your woman is enraptured in your martyrdom
While you push her around, cheat, and lie.
You hold her like she was
Someone you used to know.

Oh man,
You are paying for your father's sins
While you break the spirit of your child.
You destroy everything you build.
Your ear has turned from wisdom—
Your heart lacks understanding.
You are not blameless.
Your soul needs surgery.
Take hold of your dark night.
Surrender your will.

Disease of the soul
Is a man's worst enemy.


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 opi3ss3 on Flickr