First Gong Vol. 8: Thrust FIRST GONG 8 THRUST | Página 277

Of pain and misery,
Joy was an orphan,
For these hapless Christians.
Stanza 3
Nero's base took a foundling,
His empire began to unravel,
Rome's tears mitigated the wail
Of banshees,
The City of Seven hills burned
Behind him,
He couldn’t care less,
His mother had cursed him,
Before he impaled her on
His saber,
She was a pitiful wench,
Mothers were like that,
Sons were gods.
He, Nero, was a god.
Gods were vicarious.
His base would hold,
for fate would write
Eulogies on the pages
Of history.
His history.
Nero's base held ...
Sighed,
as lucidity became a wan song.
Teddy Ugonna Richard
277