Festival

Darkness splintered.

Cry out, angel of silence.

Fevered locks bristle, fire-touched.

The idol towers, godlike in void.

Into the drawer, I slipped the clasp.

That letter—did it reach her?
Fingers probe pockets. An old newspaper emerges.

The Agitator’s decree: immutable.
Dies irae approaches.

They wake to amplified voices.
Blood stirring, throats dust-dry.
No water remains.

The heretic’s mark: a seal in death.

So it is written. The promised roses.

All bleeds into the light.

Like a funeral vigil, the gunshot rang.

Find your brethren. For the sake of what remains.

The festival of death begins.