Nero,

Tonight

I think to myself

 perhaps I

may understand

Nero,

Fat with grease,

he is strumming poetry,

while the world is

in flames all around him.

The word

Nero is black.

The flames are black.

He sings while they burn

black ,

black as the charred ashes

left behind.

Except I think,

to myself :

Am I  guilty?

Did I light the fire?

Perhaps I did.

Perhaps we all did.

From “The Black and other Base Elements “by PWChaltas