Renegade snare.
Separate claims of justice,
Cross-roads of lies and
Many accusations of a blind.
Tender caress of a smile,
Enmesh the rebel to crease
The hate and to reconcile.
Temptation of repeat crises,
In a world that doesn’t care –
Renegade snare.
Rebel in you pushed
With only three fingers.
Thus it lingers; mutinous.
Schismatic happenings
Shake hands with the Benedict Arnold.
The Renegade Snare is growing old.
Roguish allegations thrown
Over the arms of those
Who care; those unknown.
So the snare of enticement
Edges another like a virus
And eats away at them.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 857 times
Written on 2006-05-09 at 00:12
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Kathy Lockhart |
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