It has its origins deep in the mists of time.
A subliminal urge, a primal force of hatred.
It lurks deep within, awaiting the opportunity
to burst through the deep well of consciousness.
It prowls discreetly, awaiting the time that will
eventuate, for it always does, when it is safe
to express that loathing born of the other, a time
when events have broken the barrier inviting
the rank hatred to evince its putrid presence.
Slowly the creeping menace advances while
the target, with its inherited memory shivers
in nervous anticipation until finally the curse
rescues itself from its dark oblivion and Jews
are once again hunted by ravening mobs who
seek blood. The haunting ghosts of yesterday
sacrificed to the bloodlust of predators seeking
out the vulnerable, eternally-hated target in an
endless game of pursuit and destruction. So, no
it appears that there is no sating the lethal rage
that creeps, then thunders across the globe as
one pogrom after another seeks to outdo the last.
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