Innocence falls where enmity does grow;
Silence becomes the heart where words speak.
I become one with the vengeance I wreak;
Wicked are the ways in which this does go.
My temperance sways as the winds do blow;
In rising tempers, resistance grows weak.
Patience lives to be a virtue to seek;
Turn the cheek to distant friends and close foes.

To no avail does contempt fruition.
There is no spirit to its charity.
Hatred begets one’s own annihilation.
Both live equivalent in parity.
In conceit, I find no resolution.
In its absence, I find more clarity.