Monday, May 03, 2004

Doubt Of Othello

I have loved, and I do still, but her, she makes me want to kill
She lost her faith, broke her bow
How could she? Would she? If so She’s a cow.
Was my love too little, not sincere enough
Would this be justification to be so rough?
My Desdemona, mine. Would mine be so cruel to me?
Would she stray from my bed, she gives my given hanky
This symbol, this tissue, what an issue, I gave her.
I gave her my Kleenex, I gave my love, why would she stir.
This so is not Desdemona, she so wouldn’t stray,
From me and my love but see the evidence that dost lay,
Cassio, that villain, drunk, he took her away
Cassio, with her? My Mona? He will surely pay!
Ruin, Ruin! Broken! My love is shattered.
The proof in the tissue and stories that are heard.
Iago. Kind Iago. Honest Iago, tell me you play.
Tell me this some fool’s joke, tis Aprils fools’ day?
Iago, you say nay, with apology no. This must be so.
I don’t want to hear the crimes of my Desdemo!
Stop! Stop. Let this be a dream.
Let God blind me, destroy any wrong deeds seen
But, it shines too bright, too outstanding to ignore.
Yet, I’m general, I’m the lead, I am the moor
She wouldn’t, but did indeed she is the whore.
Heads and lives will fall for semen spilled.
My love’s vengeance will survive till she and Cassio killed.
If this be so, my Desdemo, Then ho!
All of Mediterrania, all of the world,
Will know my broken love, my cry will be heard.