POEM TITLE Blackness: The Prison and the Pit.
POEM Dear Lady, please don’t be concerned for these
Poor wretches in the pit; though foul disease
Discomfort them and blight their worthless souls,
It is their lot to rot in stinking holes
Because of what they’ve done. They are the scum
Of the Earth; some are vile traitors and some
Have disrespected property or killed
Innocent victims on a whim; they’re wild
And quite beyond rehabilitation.
I do understand your consternation
But believe me they are not worth your care;
They lie there and twitch, like rats in a lair;
Two times each day they are washed by the sea
But nothing can cleanse their iniquity.
In that stem of the ship that never sets
Sail, they cower like slaves; please do not fret,
Life is cheap to these dogs, so let them lie,
Let them howl, let them weep, let them die – aye
Let them proceed to the torments of hell;
We’ll then see in which pit they’d rather dwell.
Our hearts must be hard and deaf to their pleas,
Cold as the swell of the unending seas,
Aloof as a king on exalted throne,
Hard as the black basalt, sharp jutting stone
That they have as their bed; fixed as the law,
Free from concern as a predator’s claw,
Firm as authority, stiff as the dead.
Life is secured by a very fine thread,
This we should know and remember it well
When we choose to do wrong; and truth to tell,
For justice to work we depend on fear
And few things can make the heart quail, my dear
Lady, than the thought of being immured
Down there – now, shall we proceed with the tour?
And after that, Lady, we may repair
To a hostel nearby that is quite fine
And goes by the name of The Lobster Pot;
Where smells from the kitchen enrich the air
And where we can take our repose and dine
While comfort and laughter and sparkling wine
Will soothe your concerns and help you forget
The cries of those souls who rot in the pit.
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