What Lies Underneath

I think about the hatred that fills veins.

Snow white swirling

and churning,

covering everything it touches,

obliterating the differences among us.

No shade

of green or brown

or nakedness.

Nothing exposed.

Just the icy cold stares

of eyes frozen in place

too scared to see

what lies underneath.

I think about this hatred

pulsing,

day after day,

taking on a life of its own

passed down the way fine china is passed down

from one generation to another.

Eaten from the same silver spoon.

Licked clean,

then stuffed in drawers

until the next new set of hands comes to

pull it out,

polish it,

make it shine again.