Saint Hate

The day he prayed to Saint Hate

was the day he lost his soul,

spat blood on the pavement,

pissed on the homeless,

broke bones for fun.

The day he prayed to Saint Hate

he surrendered his humanity,

lit a candle to the little god

who sat upon his shoulder

adding weight to the chip.

The day he prayed to Saint Hate

he put on the white hood,

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White Feather

I didn’t see her pass me in the street,
the woman with the husband at the front,
but felt the tell-tale tickle of a feather -
pressed discreetly soft against my palm.
The accusation whispered in a hate-filled voice,
“Coward”, dripped with venom from her lips
and I assumed she talked to me, although I couldn’t see
if the feather in my hand was truly white.
For I had returne...

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Under The Bridge

hunched up like a demon
grotesque and out of shape
tip tip tapping on the keyboard
mouth permanently agape
looking for hurt and misery
searching out the weak
twisted soul and brainless
an ever growing clique
devouring our innocence
inflicting further pain
they look for human tragedy
their claws dig in again
we cannot understand them
so we underestimate
their capac...

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