A Dionysian Funeral

Huddled grazing at the feet of drunken Gods,

imbibed by crimson blasphemes and the lust of lies.

Smeared unto the grasses- a darkened hue.

onward weighs the pleasantry that binds.

The tight flog of a screamless whip.

Chaotic lore into peasant skin it rends.

A stench rising from cadavers - a carrion feast.

As a Ravens coups spur the ilk of ill portents.

Ominous lures of the slivered silver moon-

echo flashes upon sable black feathers.

Speaking in glints against rising wings agape,

the unraveled conscience of a God unfettered.

To the slaughter willfully go the droves

of cancered thought and blinded eye.

From whose spoil will feed the starv'ed flock

whose flagellation still yield no cries.

A Gods stature at which fullest they stand

is only dwarfed by the encroaching universe, avast-

whose very stars are the moon bound Ravens sprawl

pocking the scape against which the murder dispatched.

Cyclical onslaught of the sacrifices come-

Inescapable fate beats the drum.

And so eclipse the ravens - o’er the moon!

their damned return to the banquet strewn.