steve a. manolis poet

Passion of Hate

​

Where would we be,

if we loved with the passion

As much as hate?

​

What would we know

If we ignored the whims

Of religious righteousness

And glorified our own being

And cherished our lives

As much as we hate?

​

What is it that we hate In ourselves,

that we cannot love

our sexuality,

our divine truth,

our compassion?

​

Where is our sensibility?

​

What will the vestige

Of our existence

Stand for

If we cannot stand for ourselves?

​

We hate with too much ease

Or are we too stuck in our own morals

Of our own ill-defined humanity.

Or is this too, the course we want to be?