No Matter What You May Have Heard

'Alternate working Title was "So Says Cassandra" but opted for this one

No matter what you may have heard, how vile

my unrequited beaus made me out to be:

the truth, always more than they could see,

was spun from cloth so pure, only the most fertile

of minds would conceive the visions I bled.

Those wile Greeks, born of tragedy, threw stones,

from ripples read their heroes into history:

though truth was never what they found in misery,

Apollo's w****s churned my words like cyclones,

pimped Clytemnestra avenger of the dead--

since war is never wrong, dear boys must pretend

the folly of a sharpened blade can only mean

the vagaries of battle are never clean--

some harlot lies at the heart of their poor end--

a witch unfaithful to her wedding's bed.

Helen, Messalina, the saintly Joan,

staked for manly crimes, no tear was shed;

Desdemona, Marie, Ms. Hari vilely murdered,

stripped of womanhood--what brute was heard to moan?

No matter, my heart was never quite so cold.

Ken e Bujold

© 2022