Verlaine, Rimbaud, Lucien Létinois
Verlaine’s emotions are too distant, far
Removed and cleft from violets of verse
He filled French veins with, each line a devoir
Of sorrow, since his feelings were as terse
As AK-47 rounds. His lines
Were written out like blade remorse as sharp
As knife points stabbing palms. The words were signs
Of melancholy from a distant harp
That never knew emotions that can rip.
His passions ram more like a raping cock
Than dew drops on the violets that drip
The poison of his violence. They shock.
They shock the readers of his poems when
Their blood takes in the loss of his dead men.
~ Phillip Whidden