Bizarre how canny the uncanny;
they paint their house white
but with black paint: irony...
flagrance for a heated fight!
Subterfuge of the feigning
and pedantic notions of right;
insidious witness pretending
baneful assumptions bright.
Hey, I don't care: the Providence
of contrary saints in their quest
for felicity in caustic paths of
question...they are my friends
posing as fiends. I hate them, and...
I love them...I hate to love!
Read 'A Poison Tree'
William Blake knew me -
'I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem