Regicide

On your knees,
Do it now,
Maybe I will spare,
An appendage.

I'm tired of you,
Your "be-good" jargon
Resounds like a pallid eructation
On my fallow ears.

Why do my senses
Lie stagnant?
Your lies have left me blind,
Though they are tasteless.

So now it's back to work,
The sun a cruel master,
And the moon,
Knows only sadness;

(A poor friend
Offers only tears.

All of life occurs,
Within boundaries.)

Yes you've beaten me,
I'll live in your world,
While you play with mine,
But still, somehow, some way, some day . . .

You'll rescind your disgust,
Your cautions disdained,
And give back my life,
The one that you've maimed,
Crippled, disjointed,
Frustrated, disappointed,
Lamed,
All so that you
Would have someone to blame,
And thus will it end,
My ardor, my pain,
And so will your words,
Your glory and fame,
Or as I know it to be,
Your goring by flame,
Not a clever pun,
But an accurate refrain,

Which I will do no longer,
Henceforth, however uncouth:
I deal only in truth.