DENNIS COSLETT
Rebel Heart
The Hireling
He roamed at will with vulture instinct, the
smoke-filled taverns where patriots frequented.
Amid the flaggery and boasting, he sang the
songs of freedom with fervour, raising a salute
to the sons of Glyndwr whilst second homes
smouldered to ashes.
A quaint figure, who displayed a pilfering love
for social charity, a lackey rendered void of a
good memory. A Welcher employed by a sleuth plagued
with avarice, a signature in the art of deceit
with the face of a traitor, blinded by self-interest.
A freak bounty-hunter with reptilian eyes, deep as
a bog, cosseted and protected from within Queen Anne's
Gate. A rogue with the pulse of a venomous
snake, hunting, seeking his prey, sucking from a
tired nation blinking at life, and lost in the darkness
of apathy.
A rumour-monger absorbed with conspiracy; a Shylock
Who'd sell his very flesh and blood to the
highest bidder; a vandal of the nation, the scourge of
Wales. And with fired imagination he tripped and
faltered into a verbal snare.
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