Virgil
I lead this fool through boundless hell. I watchhis eyes, they gawk. His mouth, it gapes. His cloth
protrudes beneath the belt. His tongue is wet
with long, slick drool that drips mucus upon
the hot brown ground of hell and turns to mist
I breathe. It sickens mind. It sickens taste.
His leery eyes stop, watch and stare at each
poor tragedy, but when its one he’s known,
he lets out laughter like a lion’s roar;
he howls and hoots. Sometimes I’ve had to stop
him throwing bones and sticks, what that he finds.
His anger’s stained so red with rage, his blood
is out not in. How could a man so hate?
How could a man so love to watch torment?
And beg for more although they’re all in hell.
All whom he hates are all in hell, yet still,
he begs for more. How could a man so hate?
Poetry by Sameen
Read 79 times
Written on 2025-09-17 at 17:11
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Lawrence Beck |
