Colin F. Jones


~ 1 ~

When we must kill then kill we do,
And without hate; so very true,
For he who has the shape of me,
Is but a blur that I don’t see.
For if I thought of him as me,
I would die that he be free.
No, hate lives not in men of peace,
Who go to war for its increase.
Hate is a word for each side’s foe,
To describe what they don’t really know.
Is love a lie or just a word,
Like hate describing the absurd,
A giant net filled with holes,
Gathering fish from empty shoals?

~ 2 ~

If this is not love that I don’t feel,
Then is it hate that I reveal.
Can I not like, without the rest,
Dislike and not, in hate invest.
It seems to me they are but words,
Hate and love that whim subserves,
Used by our thoughts to describe,
Emotions that we have inside,
To cause us to be what we are,
Creatures of our lonely star.
Does a cat hate birds it stalks to kill?
Does God hate those who defy his will?
Tis words, just words, to describe event,
Though in the true emotions neither one is meant.