Colin F. Jones

THE FIRST STONE

Throw then the first foul stone,
you who are so pure.
That by your provocation
your own ills you might cure.
Throw them where they splatter most;
at a public face,
And watch him as he suffers
from your own ill disgrace…
Let tiny stones form into rocks;
let a scratch become a wound
That festers from your spitefulness
that by it he is doomed
And you are by it, satisfied
in your foolish ignorant gloom.