The pitfalls of a roguish path
Include the clucks of peckish hens,
Who pool their temperamental wrath
To fuel their instigated pens.
I medicate my rigid force
With penicillin as my shield,
The sentinel for intercourse,
A scabbard for the sword I wield.
Their enmity is thinly veiled
In diatribes that skirt the fringe,
But clever scoundrels, once assailed,
Use self-defense: a full syringe.
I dodge their barbs with deft success,
A whirling dervish armed with verse
To laud the single life I bless,
And scorn the coupled death I curse.
Though caustic sirens shred the ears
With shrill complaints of wayward scamps,
A true rapscallion never hears
The squalling of discarded tramps.
Their oft-increased intensity
Does nothing to impair my cause;
My still-unbound propensity
Rejects the norm of social laws.
With every maiden left in bed,
I ravage my quixotic past
To suffocate the words I said
When love was real, and thought to last.
If you believe a rogue can change,
Unlatch the gate your fear defends,
Then feel me slither into range
To sully you, and all your friends.
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Author Notes
Quatrains in iambic tetrameter with an ABAB rhyme scheme.
Once again, my alter ego has purloined my pen, all in good fun, of course, to show the other side. Now that several old friends seem to be returning to the fold, I'm following up Tastes Like Chicken with another new Rogue piece. Feel free, ladies, to reply in your reviews, poetically, or compose an entire poem of your own to battle this rapscallion. :)
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