Kummergeneral

My dear Horatio

Would that Felicity
Could abhor me in her sight

Yet she stays departure
Setting me antique
In this over defined intellect

Oh the strumpets
The perfidious loins of man
How they would chastise mine heart
Knowing the truth of me

Desirous of bloody vengeance
I would fain part with her
Loitering within my machinations
Venerated in this unholy fane of hatred

Nay
She rests a while
Leaving this thought redolent
Perfumed with asphyxia

Whilst I
Sorrows General
Crack asunder thine own chest
Cleaving that once beating heart

Sweet felicitations
For is not that the truth of felicity

Or in jest
Do we felicitate truth
For when truth vacillates
We cannot facilitate felicity

There she stands
Mute witness to me
Her breath cloy with honey
Envious

Aye
Be felicitous
Lest I be mendacious
For in this sorrow I will be most vexed
So pray thee that she be merciful
For in her truth I shall arrive
As the blood upon her sword

© 2007, Mosquitobyte