Masters Of Hate Poem by Johnny Noir

Masters of hate, you don’t know where you stand,
You oppose evil but not the evil of man—
You wait until darkness and then you strike,
Lighting the bomb that destroys the light—
And to whom will you answer on that final day
When we all must stand judgment and lastly pray
What was it you came to say—?
What will you declare?
That you weren’t there—
That you were innocent
When the blood spilled at your feet
And your guns went silent as they hunted you down
But who are they but the wolves at your door—
Yes, all men are rabid, in love or in hate—
I’ll take my baby and run before it’s too late
And we have to fight the war in the streets—
But why should one so loving and giving
Be required to even the score?
All you do is hurt and steal,
My baby is lucky she’s not crying herself to sleep
Every night at the thought of the hate
That sells your cars, big budget stars
And the scars that line the infants’ lungs—
You poison the world with your chemical waste,
You turn boys into girls and confuse the whole race—
I wouldn’t take a dime from you for the debt that you owe,
For what could recompense the loss and sorrow
That you cause with your lies—
When you sell your weapons at a discount rate
They come back and bite you—
And hate haunts your sleep—
I do not admire you in your penthouse suites—
I can only abhor whatever kind of monster you are,
I do not adore the rot that you spread—
I wish you were dead and I am not alone,
Many people curse you, like those without homes
And those on the run but where can they go?
You give no sanctuary under the moon or the sun—
Even in church I see you prey upon the young
Minds and bodies there—
I do not pity you and your high priced meals
And the priceless antiques that you paid to steal
From the hard working folk that built
This world up from stone—
You’re so dead inside that you should be buried
Under the rubble that you have made—
Girls in tattered shawls walk the streets
For money to feed their babies’ habits—
God’s Angels sing out
As we who began time revel in space,
As the minutes fly by on solid wings—
Passing the stars as they fly,
Going where the sun doesn’t shine,
Eclipsing the wind—
Shining like you shine, immaculately—
Distant dark, crude, ruddy and bloody,
So cool smiling for me, so cranky in the morning
Just like my mother used to be—
None too fond of past lives’ memories,
Tattered shawls in darkened doorways—
Calling to strangers that pass by on the street—
You called to me then walked
Into the light,
Misty neon illumined shadow—
God’s own Angel singing to me—
“Come upstairs. I want you to meet my mother, ”
You said and I came right there—
You watched me carefully settle into the wood,
Becoming and ancient goddess for me, for me,
Watching you unfold your pink and silver petals—
Your mother a prisoner; you rescuing her—
“These are the dark things from the wood, ” you said—
I heard you whispering like the echo of moth’s wings,
That moth that was Beelzebub—
The moth becoming a priest in a bottle
And the luck was with the redhead’s freckled white face
Face down in the gutter was where I saw her last—
She was dancing face down in the gutter
In the shadow cast by the neon,
In sight of her mother’s crying eyes—
Lunar as a sonnet, solar as an epic—
Giving away peace and eternity for the asking—
You return to me at eleven
As the sour church bells chime prerecorded
Over the graveyard’s thousand faces—
A shawl is taken by the wind
While in the sunlight you stoop beside the cross,
Stoop to pray to the spirit that was your mother’s—
That one that grew from the egg, that drew you
Up from the red clay and made you shine like a star—