Poison Toads

Poison Toads

In the darkened swamp of human souls,
Where twisted roots and shadows play,
Lurk the poison toads of misery,
Beneath the guise of night and day.
Their eyes, like coals of bitter fire,
Gleam with envy, spite, and greed,
Spewing venom, thick as mire,
From their mouths where lies breed.

Oh, the poison toads, in their royal robes,
Crowns of nettles, thrones of stone,
They croak commands and issue probes,
With voices like a grinding drone.
“Bow to me,” they hiss and sneer,
“Bend your will, your thoughts, your spine,”
In their swamp, there’s naught but fear,
Where freedom’s light can never shine.

They trample joy beneath their feet,
With warty hands and grasping claws,
Delight in making others weep,
Feeding on the pain they cause.
Each toad, a master of deceit,
Their words a poisoned lullaby,
Draining hope with every beat,
As dreams beneath their gaze do die.

In the mire of their making,
They sit on thrones of mud and bone,
Each croak a heart that’s breaking,
Each touch a chill to every bone.
Their kingdom’s built on suffering,
A realm where love and light retreat,
Their rule, a plague, a festering,
With every victory, defeat.

But listen close, dear wandering soul,
For even in the deepest night,
A spark of truth can make you whole,
A flame of courage, burning bright.
For poison toads, in all their might,
Are powerless against the dawn,
When morning breaks and truth takes flight,
Their reign of terror will be gone.

So rise above their murky lies,
Let not their venom stain your heart,
For even poison toads in guise,
Can’t tear the human spirit apart.
Remember, in the darkest swamps,
Where poison toads do prowl and sneer,
There lies a path, a way, a chance,
To cast aside your doubt and fear.