The Bacchant

By , Louisville, KY
The denizen reaches for the sun
Large long branches; Powerful mirth
warm shining liquid surrounds.

Leaves crumpled about
Branches wavering, dancing.
Crying an umbrageous song with his limbs sill reaching.

Another drink of sunshine.
Unaware, forfeited, credulous, but focused.

Here comes the Sun; Here comes the fire.
His empire of leaves,
Burns into inconsequence.

Gone with the sun; One bye one,
Burnt crisp to dust
Petrified, alone, the sun turns dark.

Intoxicating fumes in deserted ruins
with glasses emptied, remains a ghostly shell

Domain blurring;
His surreal dreams continue.
The bacchant weeps, as his branches fall.

Radiance, indulgence, consumed, gone.
With no drink to imbibe, the night falls foreve





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