Human pestilence in the form of the dead knock on the door of my soul. 
Hearts once pure like diamonds rot in their flesh; their innocence becomes black like coal.
I consider how the hatred in their hearts becomes the ugliness they wear inside.
I pity their mothers, and I pity their fathers, for I am sure they certainly did try.

They tried to protect their daughters and sons from devolving into wretched beasts.
Yet, in the end, they could never save those souls from becoming murderers of peace.
They claim to be peaceful, yet live such violence — they lie, in all that they are.
Delusional and ignorant of their truth they live to be, their souls grow thick like tar.

I wonder if they could see how pitiable the heart of their vengeance can seem to be.
So righteously indignant, but ineffectually useless their efforts to protect others seems to me.
Their mothers and fathers and daughters and sons would live to be so ashamed.
If only they could see how much violence their precious and beloved create in God’s name.

For others, it is more natural to work to cultivate temperance, goodness and grace.
For some, it is only natural to live to inspire violence, aggression and distaste.
I feel only reverence for those of the former — the life they share is full of sweetness.
I pity those that live in the latter– they live not as man, but as animals in human wilderness.

These voices are damned and their souls are doomed — like insects, they feed on life.
They are bound to live the hatred they create, only ever inspiring strife.
I wonder how tragic it must be to devolve to such depths and lows.
I wonder how difficult it must be for them, when hatred only grows.

In life and in death, I pray that it goes differently for this heart of mine.
Unbecoming and all-consuming, hatred cuts with a blade much too fine.
Patience ebbs and vengeance flows; the floodgates open and my heart shuts.
I find that loathing tears away at my soul; it dies slow from a thousand cuts.