The poisoner of the well is never

satisfied until he has

murdered the whole village.

If he could, he would add to the venom that seeps, multiplies,

grows in strength and adds to the imbalance of his impurity,

his lack of moral conviction and toxin fuelled hatred for others well being

by unzipping his fly and with great relish, untangling the so called beast

and piss in the drinking water.

The deep yellow nasty smell that he insists is not there,

the unnatural toxin

 that runs through his own veins and makes his flesh burn

from the inside out

with the sensation of a blast from searing dynamite that fractures the bones

that sends a rumble through the Earth below his feet

and out far beyond the village is crude, cruel and yet somehow he insists

that by adding poison to the water he is leaving something for the villagers to do

that they will benefit from his timely poisonous rampage

and that they will thank him in the long run for having the brains

to leave a gift for future generations that will keep on giving.

There is only one thing worse

than a fractured society

and that is a fatally fractured land in which

the villagers find that what they needed

was not what they got…

that in some eyes

Poison

 just happens to be the cure to end all

Ills.

Ian D. Hall 2014.