We, worshipers, come up to the fane
Cry on some forgotten god's wan
We seem to adore
this inner ours we truly hate
We delved to our ultimate fate
Turned into dust intimate ore
That was the lame shock
To find an unfeathered cock
The mad man seeks the golden egg
He's from Melos
The magic man with elephant leg
No arms for woes
We loved him so our maimed mad god
But in our hills doubts abode
Over the ridge
We cast him fast for sacrifice
And crush the egg and crush the dice
What have we felt on tarnished bridge?
Again the same shock
To find an unfeathered cock
We worshipers dance on the hills
We envision the golden pills
This is no Bacchus tribe
No orgy bribe
For we are so seriously mad and dead
'Til the golden chicken lifts up our head
Again
Until next week
May leek your eyes
And seek your tongues
YOU ARE READING
Whatever
PoetryAn anthology of poems written by a friend of mine who asked me to publish it on their behalf. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did .
