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Image for the poem BLOOD WINE : SOUL TITHE

BLOOD WINE : SOUL TITHE

 
Black was the sunrise
That fell upon foreign land
Where the somatic plague
Soaked the fields with blood


Maimed catharsis
The ailment of allure
In wealth and in power
A wanton dance with mirrors


All rise for the holiest of sacrifice
Ubiquitous display, fruitless waste
Their eyes rust with the scythe
The pyre inflamed
With every senseless taste, a soul is paid


Fallen into pandemonium
Bitter hirudinean flowers
Cry from safety of the threshold
Their thorns deep in those deceived


Blank is the epitaph
For martyred thousands wrote
A fear that overshadowed prayer
As hell on earth awoke


All rise for the holiest of sacrifice
Ubiquitous display, fruitless waste
Their eyes rust with the scythe
The pyre inflamed
With every senseless taste, a soul is paid


Inflamed was the pyre
A whirlwind of greed-fueled fire
That hungered for divinity
And struck down its own desire
Written by UbiquitousVoid (. . . . . . . . .)
Published
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