The Hatred, The Menace, And The Curse Poem by Maurice Harris

It is perhaps my most vexatious quandary:
That I am able to reckon with what circumstance stole
At the expense of hatred toward a single, albeit, entirely deserving soul!
She is the only reason I have what most may call 'dirty laundry'-
The near-destruction of a once-purposeful life, accomplished
Through the employ of a living, breathing lie,
That does not seem to want to be finished,
Kept alive by the stupidity of the masses-but why? !
In the face of all the evidence to the contrary,
Many still believe the fallacy; their collective gullibility is quite scary!

With every whisper, or thoughtless shout that states the same,
I am forced to reckon with the phantom menace
Who stole so much, yet gifted only his surname.
The memory I once had of my boyhood, I imagine is
Lost now, as is the heroic figure I once believed he was-
Gone the way of my erstwhile innocence, because
The truth was finally allowed to amble in my direction,
Shuttered all those years, under guise of my own protection.

Now, I am a man who reckons with the disappointment
Of a lie that lasted into my manhood, as well as the anointment
Of my own flesh and blood, as pure evil, incarnate!
My burden of guilt, through association, may not alleviate
With the simple passage of time and space-
It is too much for me, and only through Blessed Grace
May I hope to finally pay riddance to my heart's grievous lamentation.
Then only, may I offer any amorous invitation
Into the world I call my own, for better or for worse,
Where now I could only proffer my unbeknownst beloved, a curse!

-Maurice Harris,16 October 2011