Rancour breeds the tendrils of animosity
A heaviness that darkens even our poetry
It is the vile and harmful mask of spite
Borne out of the desire to be always right
In the end its own fruit of Bitterness
Engulfs the mind and heart with great Sadness.
All rights reserved ~~~ Cynthia Buhain-Baello~~~03.11.14
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem