The Nationalist Sonnets: IX - To Adolf Hitler
Hitler, the most unhappy Man of Men!
Whose stench of mouldering bones still shrieks its pain
Within the hearing of thou deranged brain
Alone in some deep dungeon's airless den,
O unhappy fool! where and when
Wilt thou find mercy? Yet die not; do thou
Wear rather in thy bonds a fake moustache:
Though fallen Thyself, never to rise again,
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
Powers that will work against thee; air, earth, and skies;
There's not a breathing of the common wind
That will forget thee; thou hast great foes;
Thy enemies are exultations, agonies,
And love, and Man's unconquerable mind.
Peter L Simons - October 2012
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 10/08/2012 02:59PM by The man.
