Ungainly Gait Of Greyhounds Poem by John Sensele

Hate is the horror with horns
That pounds, pricks and pretends
Not to cause crises when its thorns
Fling faults and favour no friends

Of whom it knows none
Lives lives of loneliness
Sucked successively alone
Because no one wants a share of sadness and madness

Stuck somehow in symbols
In limbo where days and nights side by side
They cohabit and cooperate in halls
Where blame, shame and a bad name together ride

In unseen paths with no word uttered
As silence sips vitality and sorrow sounds
A death ditty muttered
To the ungainly gait of greyhounds.