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!