art by Marge Simon
Sweet renegade so fair, eternal, true,
Your heart grows vibrant when I am with you.
Your burning lips of red don’t hide such lies;
The truth allures me from behind those eyes.
The rarest breed her kin descended from—
The wicked sirens, whisper not just some.
The singing vixens pull my taut heartstrings,
Yet obvious disdain this siren brings.
Her seething rage shows suddenly above,
Yet underneath it all, she fears true love.
Her weakness just for me enflames her so;
Her hate for weakness makes my love just grow.
She ceased her song in hope to find the cure
To the pursuit, yet that was the allure.
I am not human, yet their ways of love
Made me desirous of a life above.
She left her kind who dwell in the cold sea
To run away from the suave likes of me.
She mixed with mortals at a Samhain ball,
And chatted freely, talking to them all.
Her voice, however, never will be free
Of her alluring tone, which called to me.
The faint attraction I've been searching for
Has led me straight to the loquacious floor.
The ladies ravenously hint for fun—
And yet my eyes are set on only one.
My fine appearance has caused quite a spell,
Yet I am here for just the ball's fair Belle.
Encircled by a dashing entourage,
She then is offered many a corsage.
Each trying failingly to capture her,
Only I know what makes her heart to stir.
First they all shift their eyes in my direction,
Abruptly threatened by my keen inspection.
All movement ceased, their muscles quickly strain—
She turns to gaze at her demonic swain.
I arrogantly smirked from ear to ear,
Then suddenly she felt devoid of fear.
With silent strides, I closed the glitzy distance.
When near to her, she ceased her coy resistance.
Then, as the ball became a sudden blur,
I found my voice and spoke so soft to her:
‘You're bound to me, my sweet, sweet renegade,
So please don’t stop your luring serenade.’
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by KA Opperman
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