Outcast

Please don't go there
Into that world of romantic illusion.
For there be demons there
Voracious, remorseless.
And there is I
An ignoble beast.
Abominations sit well with me.
My tainted honour cloaked in robes of varied hue.
Masks endless in array.
Economy of truth my shield.
And of course my sword,
Glinting the glint of retribution
On darkest moonless nights
As I strive to sever the umbilical cord
Of the random loveless seed.
Brendan.






Poetry by Brendan Finbarr Tully
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Written on 2006-01-26 at 14:06

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Mark Reynolds
such truth of the romantic illusion. very well writen.
2006-01-26


kip
...an intresting piece with an intelligent choice of lingua...for a moment there i was lost in the flow of the poem till i understood how evil the world of romance or its illusion thereof can be...love it...n was voracious meant to be verocious? just checkin'...love it...
2006-01-26