The August Satan to the
God of a Doll’s House.
You spewed your venom
With such fury that not even
The Inferno could contain
The scope of your power.
You waited by the stage door
For the one that would become
Miss Julie and transform you into
The Father. Do you regret the walk
You took with the vampire bound
To his wheelchair as punishment?
And as you suffered these punishments
Ibsen mocked you from his writing table,
Your crazed eyes upon him, with a little
Blind girl and her wild duck. A girl, soon to be
A woman. Why? Why did you
Hate them so? Did your nurse
Trick you into a straight jacket?
Did the dancer reject your flowers?
What could have spawned a hate so deep
That you were forever damned to fame?
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