Passive Pals
Friends fade into the common wave,
lost in their naiveté,
the days change the blame stays,
so on they go,
about their ways, insides rot.
Slave to the poison of their own creation,
oozing from their brain,
fragranting their breath,
voice saps life from their vicinity,
complaining insults, cease not.
Listening ears burn with rage,
and herald a life of ease,
free from lowly and lofty self-hate,
that self-feed such a disease,
ally ignores, rapeful ramblings never stop.
Ears cool and learn to let them fade,
from friend to cohort to stranger to slave,
happily hateful world workers,
stressfully loving their blightful lives,
patter of greater prosperity, zot but a prop.
Copyright ©
Olin Poems By
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