A Brave New World poem: John Savage

(Note: This is an individual invention of poetic style...enjoy)
that strumpet! though so perfect is she
the whore thee wants, thee curseth thee
in mockery thee is lauded abroadst
in a land which knows not any fee

by pond'rance of truth in matters dear
doedst thy lend theeself devoid of fear?
though in only title so it seems
this juxtapose, thy end is near

For in litten word in peices delight
thy drink thy cup of 'flicted night
and pray for souls whom not in charge
whose head now rests in mason jars
from off the stand swings, south..west..light