Nocturnes: Out Of The Hell World, A Few Words From Didymus Diurnal

I harmed a man who drew a crooked line,

or placed, improperly, a paper-clip.

I repossessed that which had been a sign,

and sold my soul to have a harder grip.


I bought and sold in every sort of If;

I argues right and left of the reverse.

I wrought my fate like those three murderers

who slew their Grand Master, Hiram Abiff.


If you are reading, or reciting, this:

know that I shriek in agony infernal,

ceaseless; steeped in the stench of my own piss;

and given only sufferings eternal.


Here, anguish and revenge have shared their kiss

roasting this damned soul, Didymus Diurnal.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Reluctantly this time, I must again notate.  Didymus Diurnal represents the most evil human being I have ever had the misfortune to know.  In a previous, unrelated poem, I attempted to establish a connection between Jack the Ripper and Adolf Hitler:  Didymus Diurnal's warped personality resembled both of theirs, to some extent.  He died alone, abandoned by even his dog, and laid in his home several days decomposing before the mail carrier, alerted by the overflow in the box, inquired and the corpse was found.  That man, the falsest Freemason I ever met (when I was, then, a member of that fraternity), was not in any practical way a Christian.  His interest in Christmas was a time to receive gifts from vendors, and to imbibe to the point of drunkness.    

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