Loathing - Poem by Pasquale Amabile

Peace for War
is
their justification
when through their veins
a blood-burnt
frozen feeling
courses
and a hived hissed
winding winged-wind
of nasty discontent
arises
their HATRED
which grabs
and tightly
sizes
this hugger-mugger world.

Their humanity
is kept
crystallized
prison-caged
held down
and chained
to the ground
in the unfathomable fifthy
recesses of devilish hell
to wilt
and die away
as the anappeasable Death's scythe
entangles
and spreads out
her decimating deceases:

the choke-chopped tongue cannot speak
the sight-blinded eyes cannot see.

Their longing desirable wish
of Narcissus'beloved
and the extremely need
to feed within
their dolorous sores
of uncontrollable growth
is
of no wealth-health.

They do not know
what Beauty's glance
is
at her feet.

They will never breathe
Beauty's freedom taste.

They only know sorrowful sores
as Peoples'life
dolorous dropped teardrops
are unworthy and vain.

Their only delightful joy
is
the bottomless arcane paths
of the eternal Depths
of their hateful hollowed out
gulf's hellish chasms.