Hate

Hate In civilized quarters, an outrageous obscenity: Unwashed, perishing pant And, for real, a dismaying insanity, When a hater heatedly rants At his subject of unusual dislike, Whom he would’ve loved to strike: His heart hammering vessel –damaging beats, His head contending with an ache a doctor treats. With hate, nothing is normal any more, Haters best action, an unsightly sore, With glances that like dagger stab And fast breathing that would air grab And reflections on hundreds of things United by Death with wings! Hate is the firmest shutting Of the outlet to delicate love And trust me - mortifying hitting Of a non owner of even one boxing glove. Knowledge of enemy’s demolishing fate And serial number on Satan’s punitive slate Comes with the Supreme Hate Also, how long his success shall have to wait Plus the exact date Of the unlocking on his behalf of cemetery’s gate.