When It's Too Late? Poem by David Taylor

With an unnoticed malcontent
and born of years of practise
not needing any serious incident
to release a verbal assault
with words spat as from a machine gun
designed to leave no bodily marks
but to sear inner flesh of heart
with trails of venomous remarks
what perhaps started many years ago
as just murmurings of disapproval
now in old age blossoming into
a full bloodied quiet rage
of verbal assassination in the third degree
they passed their final years in loathing
and then mourned their passing
with soothing tears.