Hate: The oldest emotion that we have

And the easiest word to rhyme on the slate

Love might expire 

But good old hate 

will always be fresh and great

Love might be hard to give

But its easy to hate, throw shade

At even something as random as an old steel gate

Or prosaic as unblemished white paint

Guess you could call it our fate

Wanna come skate?

No punk kid, I hate

This acid, this venom

It needs no point for anyone

As harmful as whisky and ol' rum

Ready to be unleashed upon any who come

Such a purpose is detestable

Yet it guarantees you will become stable

Not the character that is found in stories or fables

But a person as common as maple

A whining, rambling, old man, who finds fault

Even in a perfectly-made wooden table.