Here lies the doubly dead;
O, how the mighty are fallen!
Rootless,
branchless,
drowned for good measure,
Rasputin’s fellow,
a liturgy to terror.
Shaved from the Tree of Life
with bested blade,
your clutch at green
becomes a sickly parody,
a humorless and desperate joke.
Denial let you cling to life-support
while the summer sun poured down,
but here you lie,
destined to wear
the bottom of a boot.

What are your thoughts?