by pale light

 
sorrowful epiphany in ochre watercolors
biased is the day contemptuous in its greed
who feeds from love's alchemy
brewing with need to gorge from a table set for heathens
barbarically feasting off the Gods own plate

bloodthirsty fiends grovel for more
in the theater of the depraved, there are no stars
only macabre villains playing the part for ghosts by a pallor light

who grieve inside themselves
denied the right
they mourn in secrecy
walking into the night
without even the moon to cast its shadow

cold comfort is the effigy burning, still burning
till it reeks and even the highest of ranks succumb to the delirium
crying foul far too late