Oh, I Hate That…
Oh, I Hate That…
To know what hate feels like
is to know the bitter side of life,
it steals little pieces of your soul,
little pieces that might never grow.
I was at work the day after Christmas,
nineteen eighty five, when the call came.
And my boss, who was my friend,
handed me the phone with a look I didn’t understand, and said,
“This is a call you need to take.”
My little brother was on the other end.
He told me our dad was dead.
And I felt no pain –
no emptiness that comes with death.
Instead, I put the phone down
and went back to work at my desk.
Hatred is such a selfish thing,
but never selfish in delivering pain.
True hatred most people will never know
as it rises from the depths of Hell below.
I know that hate can negate a death.
I know that hate can replace emptiness.
What it took me a long time to learn
was how deep into the soul hate can burn.
Fully five years had passed
after such a wasteful death
before I shed the
one
lonely
single
tear
that mourned my loss.
And the burning fuel of my hate,
the eternal fuel rising from Hell’s gate,
the never ending cycle of hate,
suffered its own cruel death and began to abate.
And nearly five more years have gone,
the flow of hatred fuel is shut off.
The seed that planted hatred’s cause
is a faded and distant memory, nearly lost.
To know what hate feels like
is to know the bitter side of life,
it steals little pieces of your soul,
little pieces that might never grow.
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