Planted seeds in fertile soil
Watered with the acid rain of hatred
Malice and discontent
Warmed to a fever pitch
The seedlings come forth
Deformed - Injured - Diseased
Lacking a mirror to discern
A point of reference from whence to turn
But it is we whom these seedlings truly reflect
Our flawed selves are their hex.
10/21/2007
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem