They stood before my porch

 

Grand columns line the house,

the moss covered trees,

the bayou just beyond.

Up the dirt paved driveway,

through the gates and everything,

torches, guns, and a noose,

they stand before the porch,

my porch, and yet, their porch.

Peasants thay are,

covered in soot and dreams,

they ramble on about something,

it went unheard, for I was busy

counting the money and souls collected that day.

I sent them away,

unfortunately the torch was flung.

The moss a dancing orange,

the bayou glowing in the midnight air,

the summer heat was invigorating,

and then the gun went off.

I threw them the bags of cash,

they came anyway.

In a moment I stood on the box of their troubles,

the one I set for them myself;

my neck slinks in the noose,

and there they hang me.

As my eyes fell,

I saw the dwindling remnants,

my vast estate gone,

their's finally arriving,

I saw that no longer do I wear robes,

but the rags in which I burned away over the course of life.

They dug a shallow grave before the house,

tossing me in, and my body was buried.

They covered me in my splendid atrocities,

after that,

they went their way,

as I went straight to hell.

Reviews

[dark and twisty]

splendid atrocities - i love those two words together like that...

Not really sure if what i got from it is what you actually mean it to be but to me seems to be a poem about a person who owns land and runs it at the expense of those who might possibly be the rightful owners of said land but cannot exert any such claim due to their lesser position, be it socially or monetarily..instead they revolt...

nice work..interesting...