No Title

Dear unadulterated child

Make a devil of me 

By the same hand of creation 

Comes burgeoning clemency

Hide in the rafters

Run amongst the crops

Raize or reap

The pleasure was all theirs.

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Tuirseach

He went among the dredges

Amassing as a whim

a pertinent foiled fatality

the publicans called grim.

Erstwhile, a precedence held tight

What others pass as quim

A fervent love for a struggle

buried deep within

I’ve told a thousand tales

not one makes ends to the next

And I’ll hold with ill contempt

The feelings gratis for sale.

It’s been for us to measure

The price and balance of trust

What started as simple creation

Turns innocence to lust.