I was reading a work of fiction set in 62 AD when Britannia is at war. My pen started to flow and I wrote this. This terza rima is about a Roman slave and her Icenic master....
Killing the Dead
Driving the knife deep, turn it side to side
blood won’t be spilled, tears won’t be shed
to gloat over, to claim as victory of mind.
Numbness has set in as weighty as lead.
Tatters of heart lay on the feet, ignoring
it- go your way. How can one kill the dead
again? Why sense of loss is so foreboding
that it ceases to impinge on. Departs present,
future does not exist, neither past affecting.
cadavers cannot feel, however they resent
mutilation of the spirit. Exposed raw pores
refuse to singe, feeding revulsion- extent
of which not to be quantified. Spurting sores
promise damage, creating extensive mayhem,
however eating away discretely at the spores
well guarded by you. Yet sanity stops bedlam
she recoils, pausing demise, leaving out sham.
Update: I posted a review of The Bafut Beagles by Gerald Durrell on my Reading Room. A must read book if you have not done so by now. It is not easily available though. I got a collecters piece!
I will post soon the review of "Defy the Eagles by Lynn Bartlett"- a historical romance, from which this post was inspired. Keep checking this space!!