I hope every curving stroke of this pen,
every deliberate line slashed across the page,
cuts your tongue like a razor blade,
so you might feel the vinegar sting
of the sour lies you tell through smiling lips.
The harm you have done to this place,
once a bastion of love, safety, and healing,
leaves a sickness of the soul in its wake,
like a poison droplet spreading in a clear pool.
It hurts me so, this outpouring of venom,
because it twists and shatters the very bonds
of trust holding all righteous things in place.
I cannot trust you within this nest,
like a songbird facing down a cuckoo,
with vulnerable chicks beneath my wings.
So I will batter and buffet for them
in defense of those I love,
until my soothing song has become
the hoarse cawing of the victorious
and you are only scattered feathers.
| 
