Poetry for the Thoughtful

Furnace Of Our Hearts

People can be wonderful.

People can be loving.

People can be caring.

But deep in their hearts, there is spite.

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Spite,

Anger,

Lust,

Hatred,

Jeolosy,

These are the coals we burn to carry on.

These are the forces that keep our hearts,

Beating steady, monotonous rythems.

-

And even the best use hate to light their darkest hours.

Our furnace men dress in shadows.

Our torches are black pits of despair that we hold close.

But sometimes, anger is all that is left.

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When all the good in our lives is striped away,

We are left hating,

Blaming,

Seeking revenge on someone.

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Only when the pit of dark flames

Consumes us,

Can we realise that

We are all we have to blame,

We are what we seek revenge apon.

We are the culprits of our own murders.