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Swamp monster

He rises from the muddy, yellowish water, 

malodorous with red antlers and 

five eyes with fiery irises, 

they shrink back when they see him, 

some run, scream or faint, 

he wonders why.

Isn’t this Babylon? Country of

debauchery and vice where 

succubi seduce and lunatics

expound twisted philosophies? 

Why then am I despised when 

everyone else is just as unprincipled?

He reaches forward with a green, 

veiny arm, slime dripping from 

his six, stunted fingers, 

hoping someone would 

extend their hand in solidarity, 

wade into the bog 

to where he is, 

but the shrieks intensify, 

knowing then that even though 

malicious sprites and deceitful 

wood nymphs inhabit the inky 

woods, bone magicians have 

their skeletal mansions in the centre of 

the opulent cities with their amber 

lights, and people prostrate themselves 

before fiendish ogres 

in the palace square, 

they’ll always shun him

and nothing he wills into existence 

will change that, 

he plays his role, 

bellows hoarsely, the screech 

splitting molecules and 

destroying eardrums 

while they hide in fear

and pray to vindictive gods to

rescue them by striking him down.

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