Fear accompanies men who are unceasingly polite.
Beneath the polish of reflex lies the nasty tang of hate.
Like social mousetraps they snap at friends they do not have.
In private screams and braying accompany defeat.
That don’t escape the public lips sheen of discipline.
It isn’t the quiet ones who shake the world,
But those who are content to smile to your face,
yet smile more readily strangling you in their dreams.



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