The Unspoken Truth
At the root of evil is a seed.
A need, one which you must feed;
Callous and heartless, dense indeed.
Rooted in pain and anguish,
Lighting fires you must extinguish.
But one must also remember that-
At the bottom of every well is a shell.
Often missed, concealed within the abyss.
Its rine is that of an unpaid fine.
Deprived of reason and derived from treason.
Forbidding one to take the lead,
And water their seed.
As it masks,
The inner lacks.
Encased in a brittle barrier.
Trapped in a motionless carrier.
Like a sickly snail
Hoping to break free,
To be struck by a nail.
If only pierced by the tip;
it could finally strip.
It could rid itself of the bad.
Of its cast-iron clad.