PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

When they reported that they had just tossed

Grand Duchess Elizabeth down that mine shaft,

and followed through by dropping a grenade

after her:  Comrade, you clapped your hands and laughed,

childlike, and said the news of her death made

your day:  vengeance for Sasha in your dreams

for such a long time, and that it should cost

the Romamnovs their lives.  You hate the royals:

but none of them are disturbed by your screams

as your soul, spitted, squirms in pain and broils

during an endless and relentless sear.

And for your suffering, none shed a tear

as they gawk at the stiff you left---cold, dead,

and under glass in the Square that they call Red.

J-Called