The Feast

I see every day those Crowds that carry feast in their eyes Such merriment and such transport Are but spotted while haunting a gold spot And a passerby I am Drawn in keenness nearer to them Only to find a strange silence Reigning them and the place Though occasionally there is a cry Piercing the sky And it is all business as usual Nearer to him comes the goat gentle And lifts up its head And closely he sees its face and then his hand Strikes hard breaking the silence into a hell As one by one starts to wheedle Into getting its bones, flesh and entrails Until the crown disappears Where I see the tumult of life and death Subsided in traces of tears stained with Blood that say how little we know our animal passion While boasting of wisdom's glorification