With an unnoticed malcontent <br />and born of years of practise <br />not needing any serious incident <br />to release a verbal assault <br />with words spat as from a machine gun <br />designed to leave no bodily marks <br />but to sear inner flesh of heart <br />with trails of venomous remarks <br />what perhaps started many years ago <br />as just murmurings of disapproval <br />now in old age blossoming into <br />a full bloodied quiet rage <br />of verbal assassination in the third degree <br />they passed their final years in loathing <br />and then mourned their passing <br />with soothing tears.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-it-s-too-late/
