Euphoria of The Melancholic

Those who do not fight

make a mockery

of victory.

Those who conceal

their true nature

stalk amongst the flock

to take the young.

Beholding such bright crimson,

the dull commuter

seeks a truant guard.

A vain dissuader,

where from the truest form

of vengeance comes.


Found in vast halls

with the chanting multiples,

duplicitous in their means

and deviant in their mindset.

They sit astride

the fat bull of Concourse,

and all things flow through them,

even blood and fire.


Lost in the euphoria of the melancholic,

is the sound

of stone silence

and iron will.

It waits,

for there is no bile to drive it,

but only the white-hot furnace

from which all these things

are forged.


It is better if the game is played

under an open sky,

with all run wild,

but the bitter call

of loathsome crapulence

finds its way,

even into paradise.


Speak words

that build up your brother;

if this is not so,

then speak not at all.

When you let them tell you

who you are

and who they are;

you’ve been recruited.

So, now we go to war.

Banners high

and in the dawn

the hammer falls,

shattering the shield

that defended us all.


HG -2019


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