Swan Song

A xenophobic xyloid boy,
His inkwell soul holds no joy.
In a mist of forgotten days,
Thinks of love as burning rays.
Remembers passion with blinding hate.
Flips the bird to stupid fate.

Flagless poles,
And dirty souls,
Blowing in the wind.
Lasciviousness,
All avarice,
A means to an end.

He abdicates arduously his place to another.
All these feelings he once had smother.
He buries his face in hand,
And how he envies the damned.
He gestures a goodbye
To be seen by no one’s eye.

Acrimoniously objecting,
No longer genuflecting,
To Goddess or Queen.
Feeling hated,
Tergiversated,
A deceased scene.