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The Armor of the Weak
By Oscar S. Cisneros
Wicked barbs form the armor of the weak,
But strength lies within the souls of the meek.
Gossips and liars, the hateful and mean
From backstabbers to cossacks and all in between.
They lie, insult and spread their rumors;
Evil spoken seeds like malignant tumors.
Don't let those seeds get lodged in your soul
For anger devours all like the black hole.
Forgive those people as they compensate
For what's lacking within with their words of hate.
What else could cause their vileness but fear?
Good people turn bad when they feel insecure.
So you see it's not so bad to be put down
When you know the words stem from a foundation unsound.
