He had an axe to grind

And he sharpened it with gusto

Putting into his labour much hate and unforgiveness

And when the blade was sharp and gleaming

He took it out to do damage to those he seen as “enemy”

Assumptions percolated and bubbled in his hardened heart

And coming out onto the field he spied those he cursed tremendously

And threw the axe with all his strength into the group

Wounding all indiscriminately

And as they lay writhing in the pain he had inflicted

He walked away seemingly unscathed

But the axe he threw with wild abandon

Ricocheted back again

To cut wide swathes into his heart

And he too lay in agony

What matters now that all are wounded,

Bleeding and broken upon the grounds

Was the “sin” committed against him

Worth his hate and ire?

For, you see, we all are finished

When we have an ax to grind

8 thoughts on “An ax to grind

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