When every shadow moves to split the air,
And screaming wind does shake the very tree,
When glowing orb does lay behind the skies;
The men of beastly night arrive
At day men do seem models of good
and stout and just and made of steel
Yet at dusk's dawn all pretense of sense
does all at once disappear, lost
The beastly husk, what's left, of man
Is not what it once was
confuse it not with justly man
or in its frightful gaze do rot
Fear this “green-eyed monster” which does prowl
who sees not of reason and acts naught of will
that instead does prowl the long cold night
looking to find "its grim thrill”
Oh cold master look here not
for in name of their whole crusade
their “quest for truth” for which they fight
Will burn all else in their gaze
Fear this heat of pa**ion, burning rage
which does light brighter than all else
And consumes the very emotion they hold
Till all love does burn to dust
Tis not the danger it presents itself
or those whom stand around
The doubt and hatred through which it moves
are on those of which they “dote, yet doubt”
And this unholy anger, directed at one
does stem from but “desire, impediment”,
and slowly builds throughout time
until they are, by whatever means, “fed”
So, fair caution, o women with life
do take care around matters of the heart
these frightful beings are not avoided by choice
the monsters are in all, waiting, waiting
Thesis