Moloch’s altar

Like diamond shards thrust through my pommeled breast,

I feel your words within my sacred flame,

Untrammeled paths shred by slithering roots

Lead to my Golgotha, my trial of shame.

When shall we wet the soil with lustral blood

And paint the Augur’s sacred frame with spite?

When shall we drive the dagger through my throat

And glorify the sacrilege of light?

Muffled cries quell the vanity of truth

Like echoes sting my ingenuity.

My knuckles crack against a sleepless wall:

Feel the abyss of continuity!

Distorted dreams colour the crimson pool,

Fallen meteorite of a far sky,

A pale shadow crawls up the silver stairs:

An old reminiscence about to die.