Gossiping Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

We sit in circles, soft and low,
With sharpened words to aim and throw.
We paint a stain on someone's name,
And feed the heat of hidden flame.

It feels like justice, sharp and sweet,
To cast a shadow at their feet.
We do not speak to mend or heal,
Or show the hurt we claim to feel.

Instead, we polish up our pride,
With nowhere left for them to hide.
We build a throne from bits of lies,
To shine beneath our own cold eyes.

We tell ourselves we hold the light,
To prove that we are doing right.
But in the wreckage of the soul,
We only lose a little more control.