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.