This poem was the first of what was to be many historical poems. There turned out to be only two in me. And I know this isn’t historically accurate as Nero was not in Rome when it burned down, but the guy was certifiably insane, and therefore a thoroughly interesting character.
Nero and the Fire
Cloven hoof awake me, awake me, awake …
Slitted eyes peer forth, see the velvet night.
Scarlet flashes ripple the waves of hate before me,
And I can do nothing but his will.
Stand I now upon his back
Looking through these thrashing
Shrouds that surround him,
Looking for an escape, leaping, falling!
Pain shoots through me, his ebony wings
Entangle me, trying to slow my flight.
Throwing me to the ground
Searing pain runs its course up my leg.
I look back, flame leaping from around him.
His own hot breath tossing me as
Well as his own pitched hair.
Jupiter save me, his breath smells of ash! 
I scramble for my weapons, Sword and Shield,
And place them between heart and being
To protect me from sooty evil
To fight that which reaches forth.
I ignore the stairs that
Carry me to the roof and safety.
They are only the stone that my
Feet tread upon.
But even this elevation is no
Sanctuary. The fiend strangles me
With fingers I cannot grab
And blinds me with a hood I cannot feel.
I raise my shield and sword
They clash, making a hellish sound
As I try to fight this
Blackened, formless enemy.
Flee! Leave me be!
Stroke with the sword
Which crashes to shield!
Now I see the villain’s flaming eyes.
Dodge—Parry—Thrust
The sound of metal on metal
Seems music to me
An evil concerto of ringing steel.
Crescendo—Diminuendo
Red sparks flicker, my sword and shield.
The enveloping monster
Smothers the sound to fiddle and bow.
As the music swells in its cadence
The Ravendown menace drops me to my knees.
I drop my sword and shield,
But not with a Caliburn clang.
The crack of Pandora’s box
Sounds on the stone roof below me
As my shield strikes, startling
The beast into parting his deadly cloak.
What I see is beyond description,
For hell is revealed to me
In its fiery fierceness
Forcing upon me the fate of me.
Red fingers of the damned below me reach
For a colorless, evil sky
Tongues of scorn try to lick my wounds
To cauterize my sins.
I fall on my face
Letting the tears flow.
For my own fate is there
Below me. Tormenting me.
And the only comfort I have
Is the billowing cloak
Of my enemy covering these evil sights.
And lets me once again gasp for life.
But knowledge of my fate
Has taken the fight from me,
And my broken shield
Will no longer play the war song.
