Men Clothe Themselves

Men clothe themselves in race who naked are
To hide not flesh, but souls inferior,
Whose undeveloped characters, so frail,
Seek other mindless bodies to prevail.
Alone, they barely quaver forth a song;
In crowds, they march, and shout how they are strong,
Demanding what they’ve not the strength to earn,
Lost, able-less, to ignorant to learn,
While in a mob they do destroy and burn,
Base race become cheap potency of wrong.
Their love of race is hate of rational mind;
Thin skin they glory in, leave self behind,
Till only brutish aim is theirs to gain,
Upon a faceless field where they lie slain.

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