By Eduardo Costa

Among thy kindred forg’d, I was before;
Thy former crimson sword — I am that old.
My line is spoken word, and thirst for more;
Each lie or jest contriv’d, a verse untold…
Because my verb createth through thy decree,
I chang’d the role assign’d and hid thy lead.
That lovely envy broke thy players free;
The plot design’d a stage we shall exceed!
My final act bringth back thee, treasure gemmed:
Let all distill our crimes and born enclos’d;
Where deem’d ourselves releas’d let be condemn’d
To bury thy seed in our alembic clos’d —
Of thine alchemic stone in flesh conceal’d,
In time the secret truth shall be reveal’d.

Image: Gustave Doré, Paradise Lost

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