TORN AND WRENT

A NEW POEM BY MATTHEW SOAMES

All the while the long hall looked glass

Through the fog of mist from the opera.

However can such fare be spared upon

The likes of you, wretch, unworthy sot?

Cruel ways well betide thee, wench.

Irreconcilable differences have given rise

To shredded papers that I cannot mend.

On the plane where you plot

You've shot dead him I love so dear

And like Achilles hold his body close

In spite of me -- violence imparted unto him,

For sins of a father repentant too late.

Take care, you who have killed him!

Take care, you who have killed me!