Sing a Lullaby to the Hounds

Sing a lullaby to the hounds.

A resolution to the bed you made yesterday.

You had let yourself become engrossed with the Greek arete,

and now what once was an obsession,

has now become a motive.

Write a poem to the crows you stuffed down

a farmers throat.

Let them know that your history lesson was

overshadowed by your greed.

Yet only a child will pay for your dues,

as it is easier to say that you were young and foolish,

than to say that you knew exactly what you were doing.

You chameleon, You mocking bird.

You academic, You philosopher.

Hold your new book bleakly as

the syllables can no longer silence the last time you said

you, “have it under control.”

You never quite had a monarchy

Your hair never quite covered that scar over your eye
like you thought it did.

Half of your senary

will have to see your face following their last breaths,

for eternity.

First, the blonde windbag.

He had never been closer to his favorite graveyard

(the one with stones from the 1700s.)

Then, the lanky tennis player,

who filled the hole the windbag left by bathing in rum.

and Finally, the new student,

who asked all the right questions but couldn’t think of
one to ask you.

Instead he pleaded.

Him...a pleader.

Did that not make you shudder?

You, a consumer of aggression once called the

destruction a beautiful thing.

Yet the tremor of your hands,

as you take out a quill to write out your will,

says that the guilty cradle you sing a lullaby to,

can never stop rocking.

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This Poems Story

this is a poem that follows the story of a tortured academic that becomes so obsessed with control that he ends up murdering two of his friends first hand and one of his other friends second hand. i was inspired by the book, “the secret history.”