Evils Hidden
Its the nasty little sting of corrupt
Its the morbid fascination of ones mind
A certain kind of psychopathic personality
That bends, their souls, into unkind.
Its the idenity crisis, billowing inside
Its the omnipotentent grandiose of manic
Of such a beast as this
That stirs a whole site and family into panic.
Its the difference in our nationalities
For i am french-norwegian-italian and he, irish
That pulls at his grotesque psyche,
As he turns us, all into his fish.
He has his reasoning down pat
A Philosophical sort of tirade, of heck
About stealing from the poor to feed the rich
When truth be, most all, of we, live pay check to paycheck!
Its his nasty sort of darkness, that taunts
But opens us, once, a blind eye
Do believe, that if Satan is alive on Earth, today
You would find him ablaze, in this guy!
Dedicated to: The Ringleader of Poem Theft
'To clone or not to clone, that is the question'
poem by Theodora Onken
Added by Poetry Lover
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