Poem: Hymn of Dionysus

death of orpheus.jpg

In the thrill of my flesh
From the altar of my wounds,
To the serpentine sewers, collecting
With wine and rotting meat;
In the orgiastic symposia
Of chthonic, all-night vigils

I suffer so you can be happy

With my muscles loose and tender,
Aching with the care of Orphic hymns,
Spilling its desire, and the very vine of hope,
Where the cells of my dismemberment
Are the fruits of your joy

I suffer so you can be happy

When you dance depraved in your candle-lit revels,
Or howl from the tops of war-like promontories,
While you sing hymns unto my pain,
From the rooftops of cathedrals

I suffer so you may be happy

But tracing back through the ossuaries of times,
To the fevered delight in the bread and the wine,
Pull at your helices and you shall find:

I suffer so you may be happy,
I suffer so you may be happy

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