Poisoned Words

Poisoned words spat vile in print,
From dirty hands that bashed away,
And put to page whatever hints
That came to them whatever day.
Unstrangling hands but twisted still,
Judging but not taking lives,
The sin is not like those who kill,
But those who let the foolish thrive.

Such keys have sung away before,
Though yours don't sing but spit and cough,
It's what the world knows this land for,
'But that's the past,' I'm sure you scoff.
Opinions fill your pocket full,
And so yours must be of some sense,
Must not be tedious or dull,
For you aren't lacking in red cents.

Take gossip as gospel if it sells,
Reveal the beggar's hidden wealth,
The rich, you're sure, would move to hell,
Would choose the cold and the ill-health.
But love them if they're clean and wave
And fit nicely beneath black headings,
Their fathers put yours in his grave
And yet you'll marvel at their weddings.

Worship those who wish for fame,
Be mouth and ear to those who boast,
They have no brilliance and no shame,
So clink your glass and join the toast.
We need old heroes more so now,
Or even those who'll sing their songs
For fools are being asked to bow
And there is so clearly something wrong.