There was a mean, pathetic man, <br />much substance he had not. <br />He only counted one true fan <br />but that prevented not <br /> <br />his mad attacks on those who can <br />create true poetry. <br />I think he might just be deranged, <br />how else could one explain <br /> <br />the frequent trouble he arranged <br />as if he were insane? <br />As time went by the people saw <br />what really was behind him, <br /> <br />that was the trigger for the raw <br />sheer hatred that did blind him. <br />He stood in a great market place <br />where thousands were assembled <br /> <br />and showed his venom-spitting face <br />so that the masses trembled. <br />And then he urged his enemy <br />to find an airtight room <br /> <br />and douse himself with Zyklon B <br />and there await his doom. <br />Our times aren't what they used to be, <br />some poeple know no rules. <br /> <br />These low lives do not seem to see <br />that even blatant fools <br />have to account for what they say, <br />and this fool made an error, <br /> <br />it isn't ever quite okay <br />to dabble in sheer terror. <br />The crack of dawn had just begun, <br />a car pulled up. The Mail? ? ? <br />Oh no, it was a man with gun, <br />the fool went off to jail.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-price-of-it/
