Backstabbers
There are people who make up misguiding lies,
use words to hurt, wound and paralyze,
they put up'walls or mountains to the skies,
of unscalable heights and unmeasurable size.
They set us adrift on a windless wave,
to spew out their hate on an innocent's grave,
they slaver and foam like the depraved,
to fill us with doubt and corrupt the brave.
Their thoughts slither like a snake,
coiling around tightly at every slip we make,
their smiles deceive, their platitudes rake,
their contempt disguised with every heart they break.
They judge and convict with mirthless pride,
and condemn us, while acting our guide,
their two-faced grin, takes our own side,
while watching as into quicksand we smoothly slide.
Their pat on the back, their convincing hug,
leaves a slime trail, they're loathsome slugs,
their poisonous tongues, a mind blowing drug,
which alters reality, beware these back-biting dogs.
Back-stabbers, revel in such cruel intent,
puss breaking forth, from the infected utterance they vent,
troubled and weak, our self-esteem is rent,
when leached with glee, from the bearer sent!
©Jane Richer
Mar. 15 2001
Copyright © Jane Richer | Year Posted 2012
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