by Joel Hyduke

It takes little more than well placed blame
to bring guilty blood to a rapid boil
And heroes are those who expose their foes
when flame licked brethren oft recoil

Retreating to that crowded place
where timid souls content to rot
forsake the one whose binding grace
serves to defend their paltry plot

Where bitter crops are all that grow
so planted for ill-mannered taste
And tillers feign a puffed-up pose
to hide the strain upon their face.

They’re waiting for the next to come
who’ll pluck the harp strings of their heart
cathartic songs they’ll softly hum
to watch but never play the part…


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