THE RENEGADE - a poem

Desperation wore the mask of anxiety
To try is to win
Another trial bandied in a conclave
Consessioned at night.
The will forge on
Clamped in the palms of gladiators
Who decides the fate
Of the cymbals that will cling.
They are called
The juggernauts.
The turned the prospects
The life of the party would flourish.
Mercy in their hearts is wickedness
The devil is a better friend
Than a dinner in their midst
Unless their backs are turned
A succour is to bolt away.
They are called
The cabal.
The treasury, in monument
Built with sands of our commonwealth
Crumble overnight, yet no qualms
The poor can cry blood, dripping
They are in control
Sacked in bloodied wads.
It is called
Looting unlimited.
The Renegade
With battered ego
Switched to find a tent
So conducive, yet elusive
He was milked with hopes
To join
The band of the revered and feared
His ambition truncated
Leaving moles and holes
To battle in his tears-filled
Ant-infested
Once glorious barn of goodwill
He was raped to tatters
Despondent and forced to leave, forlorn.
He hopped in and out
Hearts berserk and made
To find a roosting rest
Wherever, ready to receive
To give him the ticket to run
That will conciliate
His mind, laden and maimed
In the hands that made him
A renegade.