You speak of ‘Hell’ as ‘Under Earth, ’
But have no clue of ‘Hades’ worth,
For long that King has toiled,
What image you of Hell? I’ll sum –
It’s one of Satan’s well, where dun
Are those of Peter’s foil!
Crude fantasy! Of Man’s own make
To manage Man through lie and fake,
And whose prose are waxed, well oiled,
Whilst Kings and Queens of Underworld
Are mirthed by twisted tales, so knurled,
Yet weep for World you spoil,
Poor Adam’s son, your kind must run,
You’ve opened Hell! And they do come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem