Tuesday, December 15, 2020

A Deathly Rising Sun

 Victory celebrated oceans away.

A deathly rising, with the sun.

Champagne uncorked, like shots fired.

Sparkling wine poured into tall glasses,

Flowing like spilt blood.

A celebration is in order.

A foe has been disposed of, it seems.

And bloodlike, champagne spills unto red fabric, silk,

It stains it with the pattern of a maze.

Like a computer chip, or concentration camp.

With the rising of the sun, there is celebration, oceans away, with flowing champaign.

A dawn rising, cements itself, as cross and green crescent is treaded under foot,

And the sky reddens, like a flag or like blood.

And the champagne spreads across a map,

On every key point, it rests.

Conquest will not be needed,

But libations, of wine and blood, flow nonetheless,

In celebration of a long dead penman god,

Whose vision guides the blood rising on land and sea, and a spider silk network, throughout East and West, loyal yet, as seeds.

A new Venice and a new Rome. And a new road, in silk, laid fresh.

And celebration is had, a harvest is wrought,

And blood pours over the cold steel produce.

And terror treads quietly, night and day, in full sight of all who see. 

A celebration is had, and sacrifices are made,

Perhaps of you, as of them, perhaps just of your soul, and mine.

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