Vessels

They are rising, all of them;
The pressure in the blood and the bile in the throat
And the venom in the spit and distortions in the soundwaves.
They drill into the ear canal, for spoils of the parasitic,
Or stamp themselves in lettered malignance
Onto the bloodshot eyes as coloured lenses.
They latch upon the frightened brain, a cancer of words.
It is not people that will destruction. They are vessels of the sickness.

My ears have also felt a buzz of anger.
My limbs fixed in hurried steps and clenched in poised, pale barbs
And teeth crushing and tongue curled to hold back the hypocrite within me.
Those hateful ones, I drone, a guttural and unheard tirade:
What they deserve, what a just, true God would do
Onto their brainless heads and toxic bloodlines.
The virus of distrust has spread to me; I try to trust my antibodies.
It is not I that wishes harm upon strangers. I am a conduit of fear and disbelief.

We are the blissful ignorant
When what we’re told and what we hear and see in distant voids
Produce the most explosive fantasies, a world we’ve never lived with knives aloft.
We see the senseless killer in another, in realities divided
To keep a torn land conquered by its kings.
Onto the streets we go in righteous rage,
But hate can only hang on hearts neglected, only fuel itself on outer words and deeds.
It is not people that want to hate. We are all vessels of that sickness.