The Poison Of Hate

Hate is a poison,
a disease with no cure.
It has a reason,
but leaves us unpure.

It slowly pushes us,
towards things we shouldn't do.
Murder and such,
the feeling is not new.

The fear we feel is death,
and wastes our lives.
We feel it 'til our last breath,
fighting to survive.

We fear murder,
but people die falling down stairs.
You try to protect her,
but she suffocates in fears.

Fears of the past,
being told she was worthless.
They creep back,
suicide is what is left.

You forgot to protect her,
from her harmful self.
Now you are alone forever,
left wth yourself.

Knowing you are next....

by Everlasting Nightmare

Comments (4)

This sonnet is a continuation of the previous one, and reflects on the situation that the poet and his friend find themselves in due to the entanglement with the dark lover, who it appears has infatuated both of them. A noticeable feature of the sonnet is the plethora of legal and financial metaphors, which combine to suggest that love is a mercenary and sordid transaction which binds the participants into an inescapable slavery. There is nothing in it which indicates that love can be at times an inspiring and magical experience, nothing of the devotion and eternal commitment which characterises so many of the earlier love sonnets to the youth. Instead one is given the impression of souls in torment, thrashing around in a sulphurous pit, and every hope that is raised is immediately dashed. He forfeits himself to free the youth, but she will not free him. The youth pays the whole debt to free the poet, yet he is still not freed. They are both trapped in the nasty murky world of the back street money lender, forever locked in a sordid enmeshment of sexual and emotional blackmail.
The imagery of money lending does not entirely hang together, in that it is almost impossible to be specific about the meanings of mortgage, bond, surety, sue, debtor in the context of loving relationships. However it hardly matters, for the picture of infatuation, addiction, hope, frenzy and disappointment is clear enough and no further embellishment seems to be necessary. It would be pleasant to set this down as a love poem, but it is more the poem of a tortured soul, and it is worth noting how far Shakespeare has wrested the tradition of the love sonnet from its sweet ideal of courtly and refined love to show how at times the actuality is rather more fleshly and distinctly of a darker and more savage colour.
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Awesome I like this poem, check mine out