I collect, the withered soul-husk said,
my grievances, peeves, and spleen.
Some people yet live, others are dead,
but my dislikes are evergreen.
Are you never wrong, I asked hollow-eyes
for their mood I could not understand.
It is simple, they said, there is never surprise
for I make up my mind beforehand.
My collection of foes and adversaries
the dark-shadowed speaker opined,
is in lists and logs and cemetaries,
newer members are easy to find.
But what of your friends and relations,
I questioned the hard-hearted shell.
They said that folk’s feeble narrations
contradicted all they knew so so well.
There’s no need to excuse any whinery
from people or even hear them out.
If you have beliefs fully binary,
said the wraith-head, it removes any doubt.
I was going to ask about love,
and sympathy seasoned with trust.
To my horror, their eyes turned above,
and they thereupon fell into dust.
