OF MORAL ROT

The crumpled leaf of a tree,
Hidden under the snow,
Rotting away in glee,
Little does it know,

Reminiscent of the lot,
That feel the inner warmth,
Oblivious to the rot,
Responsible for the glow,

It should not be surprising,
That the inner fire is cursed,
The mercury keeps rising,
To quench the macabre thirst,

Thus hideth the killer,
Of certain people's conscience,
Masquerading as an angel,
Of moral cracks,the filler,

Believing to be pure,
Pretending to be benevolent,
With a sweet poison radiating,
It's nothing but malevolent,

The rotting warmth can never,
Beget anything good,
Even the eggs that it nurtures,
Will form a cold blooded brood.