Mostly Poetry

I’m a worm, a snake,
Living under the ground.
I’m tolerated,
Because I don’t make a sound.

Surface dwellers bask,
In the freedom they give,
To the ones who aren’t shackled,
By the lies they must live.

The darkness they love,
Those dwellers of the night,
In the shadow of truth,
Created by light…

Their hearts, lined in hate,
Full of love for their own,
While the wounds that they cause,
Will never be shown.

Because worms and snakes
Live under the ground.
They are tolerated,
Because they don’t make a sound.

So the wounds grow deeper,
The coffee grows stronger,
The happy surface dwellers,
Will gloat a little longer,

Living out their lives,
Never hearing a sound,
From the worms and the snakes,
Living under the ground.

~wbv