With a wistful smile and greeting,
He turned on the charm
To his own twisted purpose
No matter how radical or wrong,
'Tis the privilege of the beast.
Charisma oozing from his pores
Turning the altar into his playground
No disclosure as to his true intentions
No one need know the true nature
Until you crossed his paths
And knew the sting of the scorpion.

Laura R
4-16-03