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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
When gossiping gets the better of people who have little or nothing to do.

Submitted: June 03, 2012

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Submitted: June 03, 2012



 Ye sit in chambers of infected dust, gossip, belched bitter- sweet on thy lips.

Oh yea, the infestation of rumour mongers’,

congregate together in the neighbourhood as locusts in a field.

Lo, those who cut their teeth by lies, dost thou bide satisfaction,

from the cheapened rapport thou hast shared with loathsome charlatans?

Glass of wine in hands, they fetch and carry tales of the vulnerable and weak.

Seen by all, feared by the innocent, because of the things they do.

For lies beget lies, and nought has a hiding place

when this Vituperation is targeted to one,

though untrue I sayeth unto thee “come“, with your pitiful disgrace,

but come ye will not for I shall deal with thee where others fear!

Yea thou hideth away in chambers of lies, gossip, deceit,

When last didst thou look eye to eye with the mirror,

and what is the condition of the soul within? 

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