Mystic Heated Wine

In a dream, I have seen,
People standing in a ring;
Men with stones, sticks, and
whips, Reeking children—Crimson-streaked.

Whispers drift from Eden’s east,
None can hear the doves weep.
They have to finish this,
They have to finish this…

Sprinting horse, as it was, now cries—
With no words.
Distant cries couldn’t help,
To cease the madness of the man.

I saw them whip the horse’s eyes,
I couldn’t help but gently cry.
Bound to rope, the head was rolling,
Distant cries—near lay.

Rings of fire, the mystic pyre,
Lament cries and howls of sire,
Repenting bath in heated wine,
Tears of joy and recline.