His mind a toxic bubbling mess
of envy, spite and righteousness,
dark self-disgust and wounded pride,
he tries to ease the pain inside
by, from a harsh and ancient creed,
selecting parts that match his need.
There is no kind of crazy hate
the Internet won’t validate,
so he absorbs the oratory
of men as rancorous as he
and, desperate, grabs at the excuse
to turn his bitter feelings loose,
to try to ease his tortured brain
by making others share his pain.
Young people dancing do not guess
the sight of them gives him distress;
they cause him hurt by having fun.
Omar Mateen buys a gun.
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June 15, 2016 at 1:44 pm
Hits the nail on the head! Really good poem.
June 15, 2016 at 6:41 pm
Good poem. He sounds as suicidal as Breivik in Norway, and I wonder if they were both hoping to be “martyred” as their form of suicide. They both needed therapy, not guns, anyway.