“O cursed spite, /That I ever was born”

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Unless you are a Hamlet (not on stage

But really royal, really real) surrounded by

Reality complexly evil, rage

Of wickedness around you, evil sly

And royal (but of course), your aura of

Reflection will be personal, as one

And only one could ever think of love

And death, particular to you, to stun

You in particular, a person trapped

In royalty and machinations just

For you, your personal reflections mapped

For you, just then you chew alone the crust.

  The crust of life, though royal, will be hate

    And you will learn that love and life are fate.

© Phillip Whidden