When I Was Born

I daresay this is a Nonet of Nonets (a series comprised of nine Nonets). I am grateful to Dajena Mason for introducing me to the form. This being my first attempt at the form is dedicated to her for the same reason. I hope you find the resulting madness enjoyable!

Hear the tale of my birth, O Calliope,
and decide, whether the choices 
I made then were wrong or right,
for the path that I took
all those years ago
has brought me where
I stand now
on this
day!
   

I arrived in darkness of the night,
and saw four faces in a line,
in pairs, the first man was tall
and dark but his woman
was all glittering
then a woman
stood with her
husband,
Greed.  
   

Death made a promise when I was born,
until my time has come I won’t
be dead in fear even once.
I stood at Tiananmen
square in ‘Eighty Nine
and stopped a tank!
History?
Perhaps
not!
    

History will remember Hitler,
Alexander, Lincoln and Mao,
men that drenched the world with blood
for a cause, either good
or bad, depending
on which side, you
are standing,
of the
wall.
   

History has always been the tale
of victors and their victory,
of power-mongers and their
mongering with our blood.
The vanquished are left
for the poets’ care,
for poetry
tells their
tale.
   

With the promise from Death secured, I
turned to Honor, the next in line
and she made a promise too,
her fame will not lure me
ever in my life,
I would rather
love the truth
and simple
things!
   

The next in line was humble Poverty,
and the moment I saw her face
I knew nothing could surpass
the truth of her beauty
in the universe.
So at her feet
I pledged my
forlorn
heart.
   

She took it and marked me as her own,
albeit not without a deep frown
from the last figure in line,
Greed with a long face sighed
and cursed me as such,
“Thine urge to know
shall be thy
tragic
flaw!”
  

Thus when I was born Death and Honor,
Poverty and Greed stood in line
to bless me but I ended up
with two promises from
the first couple, a curse
from the fourth one
and true love
from his
wife!

.

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* In poetry, a nonet is a nine line poem, with the syllable count going down from 9 to 1.