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À Bout de Souffle
Out of Breath
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Bartholomew's Reading Room


Francesca
by: E. A. Bartholomew

Spinning, spinning, madness winning
Psychopathic thought beginning
Butterflies to catch for pinning
Spinning thoughts inside my head

To twirl the net and bring it down
To trap the beast unto the ground
Its screaming terror'd not speak a sound
I stick the pin and pin it dead

Its writhing, grabbing on the netting
The sounds I wouldn't be forgetting
The tapping, flapping, clapping, fretting
Gradually slowing to a stead

A cold and sweating, mad reaction
I sense the tingling satisfaction
And this is surely just a fraction
A fraction of the blood she shed

My carriage wheels had quickly turned
The case at court was now adjourned
So early home I had returned
Returning to my home ahead

It was a cold and somber morning
When I first received the warning
A beauty carriage, now adorning,
Standing still at my homestead

Curious, I stepped out and gazed
Its presence there left me amazed
Then I saw my dogs were caged
Cold and outside, barely fed

Gingerly I climbed the stairs
And pondered what'd await me there
And then, this sight, this dark nightmare
My wife and brother in my bed

My curiousness then turned to strife
My temper flared against my wife
I silently retrieved a knife
To turn her lusting into dread

I chose to kill Paolo first
I stabbed his neck and watch it burst
His silent death increased my thirst
I watched the bastard as he bled

Suddenly, my wife awoke
The bloody mess caused her to choke
Her agony, in me invoked
A sense of anger, sorely red

She stumbled, falling on the floor
And tried to scramble to the door
She looked so sad, so low, so poor
So shameful as she crawled and fled

I pinned her down, still writhing, grabbing,
My knife was quickly, sharply dabbing
As my hands were cutting, stabbing
Stabbing her from overhead

When she was still, I calmed at last
Yet vengeance soon would have me cast
To Caina, treacherous and vast
But it was done; Her blood was spread

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