Envy; <br />It touches the best of us, <br />If we’re lucky, it all but passes us by, <br />Merely brushing the outer layer, <br />But, more oft than not, <br />It is able to soak through our all-too-vulnerable skin, <br />Soaked in with the torrential rain of resentment, <br />Nestling into our hearts, poisoning the blood <br />With discontentment and greed; <br />And we covet and hate, seethe and simmer, <br />Until that weak flame of goodness <br />Dims to barely a glimmer; <br />As the witching hour draws near, <br />It is clear that the cunning, acid-green <br />Seed of spite has taken firm root deep within, <br />And it grows, alarmingly rapid, choking, dominating, <br />Until there is little room for anything else.<br /><br />meg barnes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/envy-42/
