Sleep well, Prince Alexei
Although you will never know
That you shall never eat again
The finest food eaten by men:
Meat roasted over fires of peasant bones,
Their sweat salting it for you to eat,
And the gravy made of peasant blood.
All brought to you by peasant feet
Sleep well, Prince Alexei...
You were always safe and always sound.
Your blood is blue, and theirs is red,
Better that their blood was shed.
Was your blood not strange, dear Prince?
Then came Rasputin, half starved.
He was a priest, could cure you—but for a price
They gave him coins from peasant teeth carved.
Sleep well, Prince Alexei!
For through crying you have slept
For through shouting you have slept
For through gunshots you have slept
You can certainly sleep now.
Stop weeping, just take a breath.
Sleep well, Prince Alexei
In the soft cradle of death.
YOU ARE READING
Anarchy
PoetryAnarchy. A swirl of topics: emotions, allusions to history, social issues... And somewhere in the maelstrom comes forth rhymes and prose. Note: If you can't be bothered to read all the poems (quite understandably), I've starred the better ones.
