He hated Violence
Violence was the thing he hated most. He thought the world should be a peaceful and beautiful place, not one of fear. If he had the chance he would somehow rid the world of Violence. But Violence was an allusive thing. It floated around like an invisible evil ghost, ready to manifest itself at random in the hearts of men and cause them to do unspeakable acts. Such horror and sadness had come as a result. He hated Violence.
If he could take that floating ghost and somehow make it visible for a moment, he could lock it down and keep it from moving. Violence would then have nowhere to go, and be exposed as the slimy ugly being it is. He would then take Violence and pin it’s arms behind it’s back and cuff them. He would take a bottle of lemon juice and squirt Violence in the eyes. He would then take a large shovel and smack Violence in the head repeatedly, followed by a huge smack in the nuts. He would cock back and punch Violence in the nose again and again and again. Violence would be screaming ”STOP! STOP!”, but he wouldn’t stop. He would continually pummel Violence in the gut and rib cage. He would break the arms of Violence and bloody his lip and pull his teeth out with a huge set of pliers as Violence pleaded and pleaded. He would show no mercy to Violence.
He really hated Violence.
poetry about violence.
satirical, humor,