Love, Hate and the Next Life

Bring me back as Oscar Wilde.
Gloriously irresponsible,
lavish in my debauchery,
full of gleeful malice,
spectacularly self serving
and immanently quotable,
Brightly shining,
so much so my barbs and babbling
somehow still allow me love.

What joy,
what ease not to care about the blood around your barbs
preferring cleverness
to kindness or reputation,
so sure of yourself
you care nothing of heaven and hell
or anything in between.

About this poem

At times, we all tire of being nice. Of being responsible. Villains are so much more interesting than the hero. At times I find myself pretty boring.

I have a love/hate relationship with Oscar Wilde. I really would NOT like to come back as him. But at times….

From these things, a poem.

Tom