Hate is the loathsome genesis of death,
For those who feed its belly churning fire;
More than for any target of their ire,
Who heard the wails and felt their gnashing teeth.
They hid their foul, demonic souls beneath
A mask of purpose, seeking to inspire
More hate, but found their hideous desire
Extinguished by a cartoon’s dying breath.
Looking to heaven for their just reward,
They twist a prophet’s words to suit their aim.
Yet when the smoke clears from the killing ground,
When they, in triumph, raise their bloody sword
And look to us, to revel in their fame,
Discover laughter is the only sound.