Morituri te Salutant!

As my self-concept begins to nebulise,

each atom of consciousness

flung to the hidden unknown,

the maniacal revelry of my masters,

from whence all semblance of serenity

simpers and smirks,

devolves into devilish debauchery.

 

Nefarious fires billow satanic smoke

signalling a negatory conclusion

to the attempts to palliate my soul.

All the world’s a stage, yes,

but some are only footmen.

As I kneel before my Lord’s altar, I cry:

Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant!

Reviews

[Kenneth The Poet]

Wow! I like this. Hail to the Emperor indeed.