Hate Is It A Termite Mound Poem by Mark Heathcote

Hate is it a termite mound built layer upon layer
There's a symbiotic requirement; fire needs fuel
Words are just columns of hot air, without actions
They're just, cyclones of ridicule growing-
Redundantly weary it's a multiplayer game.
You've got to work endlessly, closely, compliantly,
Connectively, multifariously, cooperatively
To expand or kill other colonies
With, opposing sides to build or destroy empires.

To become terrorists out to destroy airliners, you've
Got to be mad and lose your inexpressive mind.
Have a wooden heart the size of a termite hole
Never to bed, never to rise, did you know
Termites never sleep, never close their eyes.

Isn't this the state of love and hate?
Termites they're children of the night, I wouldn't
Want them slipping through the cracks of my home.
Biting my soul, eating my home these social cockroaches
When found in a home means the owner will soon die
Hate is it a termite mound built layer upon layer
All I know is if left to their own devices it won't be long
Before, they've eaten all the stars and maybe the moon
Adding more and more, fire to the fuel.