A bitter poison spiked with the blood of a
thousand sages ebbs in a chalice at the foot
of the altar.
These soft ripples guide fools the way to oblivion.
Liquid solitude cascades over the parishioners
leading many to believe in the myth of inner
peace.
By morning all will grasp reality for a transitory
instant, cursing their miserable lives while praying
in earnest for autumn's obscure redemption.
By nightfall, they will return to the temple...
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 9:05 PM UTC
A bitter poison spiked with the blood of a
thousand sages ebbs in a chalice at the foot
of the altar.
These soft ripples guide fools the way to oblivion.
Liquid solitude cascades over the parishioners
leading many to believe in the myth of inner
peace.
By morning all will grasp reality for a transitory
instant, cursing their miserable lives while praying
in earnest for autumn's obscure redemption.
By nightfall, they will return to the temple...
Wrote this waaaayyy back in high school. At the time, I had just finished reading Macbeth and was beginning a Jim Morrison phase that would last the better part of five years. (I think both influences are evident here). It’s long winded and a bit preachy, but I was a typical teen who thought he knew everything.
Man, was I in for a shock…
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