False Prophet

His reign gains power/he parts from a duo,/he’s found as handsome./Sheltered by eaves, cradled in nooks,/he shrivels when he glad hands gallery visitors./At work, lonely, he sighs;/it’s the task, to adhere to lies./Lies recur in due time,/they’re peals of laughter/they form all his legends and fables./The turnstile clacks, the sky waters, a cry upwards;/pain of the kiss of detention./ It offer another chance for rabid sugars; cloying honeys./He wears his shirt, his favorite,/covered with pale bluebirds,he won at an auction,/it’s the one he adores .

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