Scribbler Of Verses Poet I do not know?

The Stench of Prejudice

The Stench of Prejudice.
 
When silent prejudice strikes
in living rooms with plumped-up sofas
a quietly insidious venom begins to seep
into the consciousness of the chattering ones as they sleep
 
The beliefs held so true and so deep
appear stripped of all feeling
empty and hollow and without compassion
as the conceit grows in the chests of those with righteous passion
 
the prejudice once firmly entrenched
is worn like a warm and comforting shawl

needing precious little to compound and to mutate
into the doctrines of superiority and of aloofness and of hushed hate

we are all guilty of succumbing to this silent pervasive plague
as we sip martinis and laugh and shovel more food on our heaving plates

and as we slip into pleasantly inebriated moments we dare not care
to smell the stench of hate & prejudice & greed wafting in the cool evening air.

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Donna Jones February 26, 2013 at 3:33 PM A very deep subject that only ones who have personally been affected by, I think can fully understand...beautiful poem. I have experienced such prejudice as a child and will never forget it. Scribbler Of Verses February 27, 2013 at 8:25 AM So very true, Donna! I 'hear'you, and may we all strive for a better world, where hues and shades of skin, creed, sexual-orientation do not bring out the terrible 'stench'of prejudice! stay well, and warmest wishes