Tales of a Poor Poge by Richard Palmer - HTML preview

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RETURN

 

When I was most alone,

Abiding in my pain
And exiled from myself
The One called, Return!
A demanding voice whose cry

Ruptured the composure of my isolation.

In this moment where are my accolades,
The gilded statues empty triumphs made?

I look to my lovers and know why I die.

True lovers must bring joy
These false gods have sold me a lie.