Friday, November 06, 2009


The day I fill my gallery I'll don a thorny crown,
And strike a pose mid-stage under the light;
And there I'll stand as still as stone, awaiting audience,
To take its seats, my captives for the night;

I'll linger long ere I begin my sharp soliloquy;
Each gaze I'll meet 'til I espy its guilt,
Then, satisfied that I'm their lamb, I'll softly clear my throat,
And murmur low as I begin my lilt;

And everyone who wronged me will be seated square before,
And mutely will endure my free acquittal;
Each sin they've done against me will be aired and thrown away;
A tear, a kiss, a saw upon the fiddle;

And then I'll open up the pipes and sing aloud my pain;
 I'll bear my burdened soul to every sight;
And when I'm sure they're all secure in how they've brought me low,
I'll cut my throat and bid them all "Good night!"

1 comment:

Mari Gold said...

Yeah, THAT'll show 'em!!

The basic moral difference 'tween thee and wouldn't be my throat I'd be cutting.

And, seriously; a great poem.