Twilight For the Gods

Fell twilight for the gods on craven haunches, sarcophagus tantrum slammed, broke fingers dug in the sacred bread, stilled mouths from sipping rough cask wine from the vine of the freshly damned. Satan, with crossed hooves, hogged the distant corner, stroking pointed chin, enrapt, volcanic, in serpentine repose, silent, black and melodramatic, marinated in chloroform sin. And God pulled strings that puppet limbs writhed virulent with fate and infect the twelve with cold unease, inklings spawned and realisation dawned of a favourite son's death in orchestrate. Betrayal engendered of love of lucre, mule whipped by denial, when driven rivets nailed feet and hands the physics of pain in vinegar nerves was less a torture trial. When forehead thorns drew bloody sweat the side was speared through, it ended in tears of salt and stigmata and waves of hysterical weeping and wailing for they know not what they do...? "They know no what they do?" playing fast and ever loose with good intent, the best defence for dirty deeds of crucifiers, despots and natural born killers, yet the laws of man decree ignorance no excuse.