I wrote a poem a while back called 'Infarction of the Soul' with the incentive of writing a second part to it, but never got around to it until now. So here goes.


Seatied to my left,
and seated to my right,
is a subject of theft,
and a hidious sight.
For trust and faith,
have decayed uncouth.
They're empty and open,
like a home with no roof.
For interaction begins
and ends with a lie,
as they wax poetic
to meet evil desires.
And the victim of this
is the few good men,
who suffer while they
insert daggers again.
The consesus of such,
is a lysis of trust,
controlled by the mistresses,
'power' and 'lust'.
They sow their evil,
as farmers so seeds,
and watch with smiles,
as the evil succeeds,
and it grows and grows,
until it reaches new heights,
'til it straddles the heavens,
and day becomes night,
but the heavens they straddle,
is not their home,
for the evil they harbour,
is theirs alone.
But we all have some evil,
in the depths of our heart
and its how we control it,
that makes us who we are.