My Last Duke
My lord, will't please you,
to pull my curtain closed with all undue
respect, my false'd eyes
cannot bear to see such a creature of lies
go forth and fly to this man
who comes at your beck'th to arrange thine hand
to the bosom of raptured youth-
to him, surely, your desires are as such; uncouth-
the temptor of Adam and Eve
was not so much as scaly as thee.
Indeed, yours is quite the twisted mind
I say, to be as the Devil himself and find
that happiness becomes pain:
t'was the loss of your gain
in having me, your lordship, in that
what would make others happy, sickened and sat
vile in your acursed soul, believing
your ladys born'd goodnesses were deceiving,
for how is it that my smile
of all things, would fool and beguile
your noble senses, into
a tryst with madness in who
you together had agreed
death would be the very best for you and me?
I now only wish that my
satanic portraiture would cry
into your deafened ears
that nothing was ever the sum of your fears.
But only, how? How could my wretched nature foul
so move one as yourself- in where a digging trowel
will find more arrogance above mine head
than common dirt instead?