Charades

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You wear the bark,

but the charade

bites, xylem and

phloem corked with

pseudo-sap. Leaves

wilt, dejected

heralds marking

your soul wormwood,

galled by blighted

moral compass, limbs

sold to do evil

where, rooted to

inferior soil,

your destruction

is imminent.

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Glass Houses

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He lives in a glass house

but is unafraid to cast the first stone;

the ripple effect drives shards

straight through his

sternum.

Seeing Eye to Eye

Your lip curls in derision,

contempt for failings twists you.

Your eye gleams,

‘arc de triomphe’;

 your tongue trails

your rows of hapless prisoners,

an offering to ego’s altar.

Your gleam blinds you

to your own appetites,

 slaves with sweat glistening,

goose-stepping over cells

bound by shackles of steel.

Remove the plank,

and you can see to remove my speck.

Perhaps then,

sliver-free,

we can see

eye to eye.