Hate

What a pity is hatred often sung,
Who, for envy, boasts of self.
What a waste and shame is hate,
Bringing old age quick on young.

How absurd to forever despise
So greatly that reason is lost.
How pathetic to have so small a life
That you forget where to cast your eyes.

Nothing is gained by stubborn malice,
But weariness and pain.
Nothing good comes from such callous,
But sickness, bitterness, and this--

A life full of anger,
Leaving no room for love,
And forever a need for more-
A tired and insatiable hunger.

Reviews

[...]

Charming piece, like old time poetry.

[John Jackson (El Juero)]

Excellent description of a corrosive emotion. Four lines and four stanzas bring a balance to the work.

Muy Bien!