The hate fills you with spite
the heart is a barren desert
the mind is a desiccated tree
basked in the heat of hate;
There’s a cat who walks
by himself by the proud tree
and his eyes full of memories
that once beheld the leaves
dancing in the breeze of peace;
He catches in silence at the sight
by the awe of the forlorn fate
that wails into a void of ether
and continues on his wander
into the end of distant rainbows
bridging over the skies yonder.
A Cat in the Mirror 