Turncoat..... (Poem)

A renegade, a traitor,
I roam the streets hooded and hiding,
A white knight I seem,
A magnificient horse that I am riding,
Yet so appaling is the mirror,
That I smashed it,
To a thousand pieces of ugliness,
Each shard a broken promise,
Bloody on the edge,
Crystal clear image,
My shining armor does little,
To protect me from piercing glances,
A thousand fiery accusing lances,
My loyalty bleeding with my heart,
And burning in fire of desire,
A picture of dead Gandhi,
A shadow of dead Guevera,
A lost Lenin, a mute Marx,
Thousand hungry eyes,
Staring at my well fed form,
A changed me, no longer,
A firebrand advocate of reform,
A swirling river of emotions,
That have left my tears dry,
And my smile, manufactured,
Perfect yet inanimate,
A green pasture nourished with blood,
The red that I carried now stains my hands,
The tide will soon wipe out,
My footprints from sands,
The guilt will outlive the abode my soul inhabits,
An epitaph will read no more than blank,
My enemies once called me a commie,
My friends now call me a turncoat.