Viscounte of Fallacy: An Instructed Letter of Penalty

Take of a metal toothpick,

Drably carve ‘SLEUTHE’;

Into my right hand, the tumor,

For its name shalt be ‘SLOTH’.

 

Gather a clew of worms,

Clotted vithin an execrable swyn,

And fill my mouth of ignoble words;

For “The worm hath fouler lips than thine.”

 

Now fetch that rusty trephine of myne!

Secure its place upon my craneum;

Drill!  ‘Til there be an immutable migraine;

A twinge liknen an inflamed artisan of craze!

 

Make haste at once! Slice a door into my torso,

Incinerate one at a time, every innard,

Leave naught a gutted trail for a grubby tour;

Place a placard o’er the cavity, a foretelling of Inspiracion;

 

Affix the Goblet of myne bequest,

Unto the left palm of my hollow hand;

Sift the ashes of my kinsmen’s bereave,

To the brim of my cup, bones of a thousand half-breeds!

 

Touch naught my eyes, they shalt be of smelt;

Vithin their craters, a leaking anguish;

All this doeth, whilst I stay bowed,

Binded with spiked-wire, to my cathedra of ambush.

 

Lastly, if ever I were to be no more,

Prop me upright and preserve my final wish-

 

That I become a cenotaph,

Of an impalpable narration,

Recorded vithin an inverting dream,

Amidst my search of a somatic Seraphim.

 

 

-Leah

Author's Note

Still an ardent student of Middle English. And this is just another doctored attempt of mine.

Also, the line “The worm hath fouler lips than thine.” is originally from Lord Byron's 'Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed from a Skull'.