Your twisted eyes are blind to lies,
their anguished tears a shroud
across the truth you seek with acid vim.

You look at me as if you see
a demon's wicked grin,
when all I am is comfort for your mind.

Authority is not for me
in conscience to dispense,
and hence I plead; please analyse your need

to demonstrate this vicious hate.
Please take a breath, my dear
and ask yourself, before that breath expires:

Is what you see so fervently
an aspect of the world,
or just a ghost's emancipated dreams?