It's hard to
understand Dante,
but oh so easy to
fall in love with
his madness.

To be so flush
with the gift and
die penniless and
misunderstood is
a comedy that can
only be lived and
not fabricated.

His Inferno was
cold and lonely
and I feel a
kinship with
the cold and the man.

His prince was a
blubbering fool whose
only sin was
his betrayal
to his king.

And I've shed blood
for senseless reasons
and always remained
loyal to the
ways

Who shall cast
judgment upon
my loyalty,
is it the pain
in my gut that will
portray my
penance.

The Serpents gave
us our religions,
for every swarm needs
its own Queen.

Dante died alone
in banishment,
Nietzsche wrote
the Anti-Christ
and I've fallen hard
for them
both.