The Three States Of Spite Poem by C Richard Miles

Spite cuts clear and cold and clean, resembling
A razor-edged sliver-shard of richest diamond,
A jagged, sharp carving-knife of purest ice,
A keen, serrated dagger-blade of brightest silver,
Since what were rich and pure and bright
Are lost and dross and worthless,
As they have shed their sheen
And innocence and radiance.

For, in the fierceness of that furnace, fired
By senselessness of searing spite,
The diamond is burnt and consumed
To dry ash and air and smoke
And chilled ice is thawed and melted
To tepid, stale tapwater
And silver is spoiled and tarnished
To oxidised, black dullness.

So all is black, and black is blackened, till
All love is lacked like gainless gases,
All love is leaked like lifeless liquids,
All love is locked like soulless solids
And hope’s diamond is dead
And faith’s ice is interred
And joy’s silver is spent,
As selfish spite wreaks reckless wrath.