Misanthrope

Standard

Do I have a heart of stone?

Or is it numb?
Or have I none?

Why don’t I cherish what people do?
Am I a beast?
Worthy of disgust.
I don’t want a crowded street
People flooding disgust me.
Sometimes an acquaintance takes
Away my heart
At others I know not the one
Living besides me for years.
At times I don’t pay back
Her love
She who takes all my whims
And fancies
I rather lay back mumbling
At the factors which ridicule her.

People of my age I see
Busy engaging themselves with them
An update, a status, a picture.
I imagine how they have
People worthy of their love
I don’t find that string
Which is said to be attached to them.

I love not the tools of my birth
Then how Can I love anybody ever
How could a barren soil
Dream to beget a flower.

I see her sweating all day long
Only for a taste on buds
That tender heart begins a cry
Only with a pinch of misery.
Though I know not why
I don’t feel giving her my shoulder
Rather I am critical and often
Shut her up with an ugly chiding.

He talks to me or at least tries
To become more than an acquaintance
Shares his happiness and praises acquired
Hoping to start a conversation.
I still find myself engaged
In jotting evidences against my begetter
Hear words of my heart
That sound as his critique.

I love not all but I love still
When love can die for it
Am I still a beast?
Worthy of disgust?cripple__a_drug_addict__a_misanthrope__an_atheist__by_muhamir-d518hny