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WITCHCULT
Peasants at the ritualistic gathering
tightly packed, sweating, mumbling,
standing on the hard, wooden floor.
The upper caste seated on red velvet thrones above.
Flash of darkness
absence of light
Swirling fog swallows the crowd.
Cut through by massive, strobing, moving scenes
of ancient stories told.
The group of men become one, shouting,
fists in the air,
Divine silhouettes take stage,
the players in this sacred theatre
Bearded gods
Thrashing wildly, hair flailing, enraged,
Cast their rumbling thunder
from instruments of old.
Hypnotic drone
Brainwashers of thine soul
Priests in black garments
preaching word of mysticism
of their unholy faith;
“Go forth and conquer,
go forth and die”
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