Shakespeare’s Inferno
One day Shakespeare lost a sonnet full
Of metaphors made out of leather and dye
Writ in blood on a graveyard skull
Before his pen and ink and mind ran dry.
The time I wrote a poem to you, you saved
It as a monument to incinerate
Your dreams in the fire of while you paved
A sacred cow path through a narrow gate.
Now the sounds of slaughter filter down
From the ivory tower to the silver mine
To where you stand in blood-stained cap and gown
In line at the cafeteria where devils dine.
You wander halls and corridors like Cain,
Cradling your pound of flesh exchanged for pain.
Don’t drag me into your sad little World.