PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

They tell me my eyes glow, each a smouldering ember,

like crimson bulbs floating through the thick of fogs.

I must admit that I admire the likes

of Nero, hoisting those Christians on to pikes---

pitch poured on them, and then to flame, to light

the dinner parties Nero enjoyed at night;

burning brighter and slower than the best of logs.

Imperial Nero settled many scores

(as every scholar of his era notes);

as I have, with these haughty, hateful whores.

And with my polished, and well sharpened, knife,

I sliced my frightened preys' bloodpulsing throats,

and free myself from my internal strife.

Even the chill, this dim eighth of November

cannot diminish my relentless heat.

And Mary Kelly---dancing with conceit,

on shoeless and opaquely stockinged feet---

will have her life buckled, though incomplete.

Starward

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