He Drew His Sword

He drew his sword in rage.
How vile is man, how deceitful woman.
How thankless is life,
Thorn upon thorn to crown a howling madman.

He snarls at wounds cut by her wicked venomed dagger.
As she twists the blade he knows
She is one with the world,
A black fiend.

Betrayed, betrayed, he bleeds, eyes wide with fury.
"Vengeance! Vengeance!" Agamemnon roars.
She flees but he is fleeter.
She weeps and begs, "Forgive me!"

And he falters...
His blade clatters onto the stone,
And he falls after dying.
As his strength expires she laughs; victory is hers.

George Chadderdon © 1991