“And I’m almost there– I’m almost there”
wouldn’t it be a shame if they died then,
wouldn’t it be perfect for the script
if they collapsed without air or prayer?
“But, I feel some pain– I feel some pain”
wouldn’t it be a shame if it swelled then,
wouldn’t it be perfect if the dagger slayed
and they cried out in the pouring rain?
Oh, dear architect– dear architect
what an odd and sad masque you play.
Your poetry and lonely sights
have brought on your own despair.
Peacefully Prospero weeped
at the edge of these darkened seas.
Unfeathered flocks of fiery bones
flew above his heavy brow.
Giving not a moments notice
at the sorrowed actions of this beaten crowd.
— The End —