The Irish man
With evenings watching, dark clouds shadow the red spectrum of the moon,
The waves rolling to the cool soft shores and rivers flowing romantically,
Whilst listening to soft genteel words of love and compassion,
I trusted the tall, dark stranger implicitly and took him to my chamber.
There in my bleak prison did his other evil, passionate nature show,
Forcing submission through the glare of hypnotic, ultramarine eyes,
Menacing me with the psychotic, sweet whispering of his voice,
‘I am not a gentleman, I can be cruel’ contrary to earlier divulgence.
The strength of the rural Irish man so much more than it seemed,
He clasped my tender hands steadfastly with almighty ease,
His eyes flashed with a sadistic desire, and beer laced breath engulfed,
And with swift brutish rage he took me full of the mightiest passion!