I remember the peasant I hypnotized

and submerged in the River Neva ice;

but I don’t remember the feeling

as I watched his silent scream

while I drank some vodka

laced with fresh blood,

a delicious red flood

of Type AB from some bloody commie.

After that, I once again mesmerized

That uto-uto Romanov to re-appoint me;

for I believe I am

the one they call Genghis Khan.

When I meet German spies I wear a mask,

like all men do; a silky shawl my cape,

’coz I’m Caligula too.

Like Machiavelli, I have nothing to hide:

If I manipulate the Powers-That-Be

or sanction extra-judicial genocide,

it’s because God told me to;

I was destined to be a political appointee

because it is my mission to save humanity.

But they, Felix Yusupov and my other critics,

or should I say, “Terrorists!” never visited,

so I’ll send out my assassins instead;

a peace gesture even Nero can do,

as long as he remains true

to himself, though perceived to be demented,

never to be corrupted,

by the insane who pretend to be

normal people like you and me.

(Photo courtesy of Mark’sSketchBlog. Your comments are welcome and will be answered. You can link your blog with EasyHyperLinks)