Let me start with a tale of dread (so I can remove it hastily from my head) about a man who found himself dead.
A Poem for a Man I Hated Who Is Dead
Death to the hypocrite
Who say to me.
"He was a man of great
Passion and certainty."
Down with the King
Who give him praise.
A man whom I hated,
Despised all his days.
Why, you ask
I wish a man dead.
Considering facts
He wished it first,
Only this was in reverse.
My honor was taken and stolen,
When the seal of mine love
Ravished and broken.
In vengeance I swore
To even the score,
So I went to his house
To set it.
He was dead in drink
And I was struck with regret
For I saw near me
A sweet dove
Who not what she was in danger of.
I left the place
Shook the man alive,
Brought him out and relived his thighs.
He asked me my business
I told him straight out:
"You stole my linage,
My love, my bride,
Now take thy pestilence
And begin to die."
So it is over.
The deed has been done.
The sweet dove cried in mercy:
"What have you done!"
I did not answer,
I simply walked away.
A major regret
That I hold to this day.