Epitaph For A ‘Queen’
           
           
          Neath Alba's cold enshrouding skies
          Its capital majestic lies -
          The ancient guardian of the North
          With bridge astride the River Forth.
          Amid its grey historic miles
          Lurked I and wrought mine evil wiles;
          Couched in a meagre lair and slight,
          Home of the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          Though born of woman, ne'er was free
          To woman have or woman be.
          Accurs'd the het'rosexual brood
          Whom Nature bless'd, as find they should
          A sea of love with tides of bliss
          While doomed was I to walk th'abyss
          Of loneliness! Ah bitter plight -
          Fate of the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          With soul giv'n free to darkest powers,
          And allies four, th'Infernal Towers,
          Their love and happiness I shattered
          And to the winds their children scattered.
          Each womb cursed I with rivers red,
          With impotence the marriage-bed.
          Such the unending vicious blight -
          Gift of the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          No labour honest could I find;
          No will had I to turn my mind
          To aught save evil, so was free
          To castigate society.
          Alas, cruel Life did ne'er me bless
          While all around saw I success
          In those who toiled with steadfast might.
          Poor wretch, the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          Lo plagued I them with fire and flood,
          Wrought homelessness whene'er I could.
          With all a-ruin, riches gone,
          My sympathy invoked the dawn
          Of countless days in deepest pools
          Of tears. Oh unsuspecting fools!
          Forever would they know the spite
          Of me, the Stockbridge Sodomite!
           
          Ere yet my wrath had wrought its worst,
          My heart and mind were further cursed
          To see my victims bless'd e'en more,
          As God rewarded Job of yore.
          Then I, beset with darkest aim,
          Transmogrified the Holy Name
          Of that same God and his fair Rite
          To strengthen the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          Ere could I prostitute the power
          Of Mother Church and Sharon's flower,
          I on her vomit issued forth
          As excrement of little worth.
          No reservoire of power could find
          Save which rais'd I with mine own kind
          In pederastic rites of night
          Led by the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          E'en now the net had wrapped me round,
          As enemies and friends had found
          The common link in every plight
          Was I, the Stockbridge Sodomite.
          So cloistered in mine evil cell,
          Fearful of retribution's knell,
          Schemed I my ‘foolish jackdaw's’ flight -
          Pawn of the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          Oft were his travels, coast to coast,
          To seek what I desired most -
          Proof that my craft had ta'en effect
          On those my sweet facade had wrecked.
          Oft was his journey east to west
          In search of tongues that might be pressed
          To recount the tactics of the fight
          Against the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          Alas! Mine efforts were condemned
          As my pathetic bird was maimed.
          And soon Th'Assembly of the Just
          Transformed my future days to dust.
          Bereft of mine infernal fire,
          Th'Eternal Judge with righteous ire
          And teeth of lions, keen and bright,
          Did rend the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          Alack! With my gay lover gone,
          Few dregs of comfort found I none -
          Save to alcohol a prey
          Which scourged mine enterostomy.
          Abed I lay in fearful state
          And there did I exsanguinate;
          Mine own creations, fiends of night,
          Made feast of the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
          I implore! Take heed, each brother gay,
          Lest Fate's decree distort thy way.
          Accept thy trials, refine each goal,
          Ere thou be driv'n to sell thy soul.
          Anon stand I at Chaos' gate,
          Oblivion my final state.
          Oh futile, foul and putrid sight -
          Life of the Stockbridge Sodomite.
           
           
          (requiescat in pace)
           
           
          This is the final epitaph and synopsis of the life of a homosexual black-magician who lived in the Stockbridge area of Edinburgh, Scotland, and who caused much grief and suffering to all who crossed his path.
           
          A classic non-achiever with frustrated ego, he found manipulation of evil his sole talent, a skill with which he sought to punish the society in which he found himself a misfit.
           
          He even attempted to take minor orders in one Christian sect both to pervert the power of The Mass and to obtain desperately a respectable and meaningful front.  Fortunately he was expelled by The Church following their investigation of the malefactor.
           
          He died tragically in 1996 at a relatively early age and possibly a victim of his own vampiric creations which rebounded on their maker.
           
          The "foolish jackdaw" in the poem was one of his erstwhile gay compatriots who delighted in gathering information on all he knew.   He himself contracted ‘the virus’ much to his chagrin.
           
           
           
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