So, I wrote a poem, but I must say that this story is not mine. The actual story is "copyrighted" by ancient Greeks. Anyhow, my poem is based on the story of Clytmenstra who killed her husband with no remorse. While I know she did have some reasonable reasons for killing her husband, she still should've felt a little twinge of emotion for the man she once loved. So, this is my take on the story:
Clytmenstra
Wicked Queen,
Wicked Queen you are.
Soaked in Scarlett,
Bathed in Crimson,
A smile upon your face.
He did me wrong you claim.
A life for a life you say.
You closed those castle doors of yours,
Mind set to do the deed.
We never thought,
We never thought,
You'd come into the open air.
Soaked in Scarlett,
Bathed in Crimson,
With a smile upon your face.
Your head held high,
Lover in hand,
As the last lay forever silent and hidden away.
Your son must now do the wretched deed,
Freshly ripped away from your bosom.
He must now give heed,
Spearing the breasts his head once rest upon with his own weapon.
Blood thirst!
Oh blood thirst!
The cause of all terror.
Wicked Queen,
Yes, a Wicked Queen you were.
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