Silk from
an army of spiders,
garments
worn by Wealth.
Crowned by Power
in the
name of Pleasure,
Fortune built its home:
a castle
in the heart of
the sea of snow corpses.

A bacchanalia
hosted by Lust
and everyone drunk
under the red moon
with dancers naked,
undressed by music.

There were
no drums,
no trumpets.
Only violins
that sang with hate.

echoed through the halls.
Cruel embers
warmed the noble nexus
while smiles
caused by man's
shadenfreude
showered the festival.

Below the sea
raged in unsaid anger,
the earth its alliance,
and God its master.
The seas and heavens
twisted:
a whirl of divine
punishment.

A party was
about to
end
in a dawn never
witnessed.