Inspired by my parents having a bit of a row upstairs. They're not nearly as bad as this poem makes them out to be, but I wrote it off the concept.

~~~

This hollow attempt at conversation
Is no less a lethal combination
Of a pair of fools so wrought with sin
There's no room to let the good stuff in
The Spoken Word must be a gift from Hell
An invention from whence all evil dwells
I'm sure its origins were never divine
Or we'd all be poets, penning sonnets sublime
And why would God give us a mouth and lips
Through which our dignity falls in wrathful strips
If not to render us completely feckless
For it is with words we are most reckless
Worse, still yet, we were given two ears
To double the chatter of our mindless peers
The errs of humanity are thus amplified
By these malevolent tools; meant to divide-
The insidious goal of verbal speech
Is a world in which empathy is out of reach
Where it's hopeless to fathom the opposite sex
Even more than today; girls are even now too complex
And you're proof, my dear wife, for your voice never ceases
I swear your wit dims as your volume increases.

~~~

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