Bitter Fruit

How many times will history repeat itself? How they maneuver; convinced that they are what they describe themselves to be, righteous because they smile, not due to their deeds. My wounds still ache from their last assault, and yet they return bearing sweet words and bitter fruit. Their eyes speak another tongue, almost disarming, that I might doubt myself. “They want that thy gates shall fall,” the angel whispers. They have never failed to strike my lowered guard; yet, I wonder if perhaps this time they truly want peace. But how can I trust them? “Seek ye not peace in soft words,” she says, “Nor in warm eyes… for they believe themselves righteous, while their deeds seek thy destruction. Look only to their deeds.”