|
These pictures made my flesh shrink every time
I saw them in the library at school,
Yet when I had the chance to own this Rhyme
By Dante, acid-etched, which is the jewel
Of Tuscan Art; and limned by that sublime
Doré, who etched in vitriol and cool
Gilt, depicting tortured souls whose crime
Was flouting some specific social rule,
Now naked, burned by fireballs and lime—
Quickly it was coveted and bought:
I put it on my shelf without a thought.
He looks at me with disappointed eyes,
Hurt and hurting as if life were lies,
As trapped beasts are the moment they are caught.
In anger, pain, and pàrental concern
I pull this Comedy of torture down
And show my son, as though he chose to learn
The aftermath of folly, this being blown
Down to the icy depths and horrid stasis,
Earth is not so bad a place as this is.
This chopped thigh, this severed head held by
The hair, this woman-spider, nude and crawling,
Wouldn't evil actions soon be quelled by
Sights of Byzantine sadistic mauling?
My Son: you steal: let's look up where you'll be
From day of death through all eternity;
I think I see an open seat in hell;
This steel engraved depiction lets you look
Upon my own fear, in words I cannot tell:
Abandon Hope, all sons who read this book.
8.10.97
| |