The Hypocrite's Parable

The Hypocrite's Parable

A man of age
Three score and two
Stood before a mirror
Enjoying the view.

He waved with his left
And scowled at the sight
His twin, full of hate,
Waved with his right.

He pointed his index
Full of anger and ire,
"Don't taunt me boy;
I could be your sire!"

His visage did scorn
Reflecting infernal hate
And cast aspersions
On his internal state.

"You hate-mongering asshole,
You better stop now!
I warned you liar,
You're mother I'll disembowel!"

His eyes slowly narrowed
And the twin's did the same.
His face grew redder,
"Your pain'll be yours to blame!"

He threw a straight right.
A straight left came back.
Fist met fist in broken pane.
Self-deceit began to crack.

"You dare bring brothers,
Accomplices in crime?
I'll smite you all…
Some other time!"

Slowly, slowly
He backed away.
With equal speed
So did they.


One last time
He dared to point.
Blood dripped slow
From injured joint.

"This isn't over.
I shall return.
If you know what's good,
Being here you'll spurn."

With that last statement
He turned and fled.
Never realizing
Only his hand bled.