Satan dance

• Elenora Jean, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2005

The train whistles past the house of sin,
A windy departure from the empty din,
We are now left, bereft of our pagan right,
Barbaric satan dance in the wiles of night,
No more, no more dopey mist of dappled days,
By the wintry smiles of opium sun rays,
Addictive in the golden splendour of noon,
Shimmer-shimmer flakes of starburst balloon,
Coroding moments into sappy rust.

The air has wieght, a heavey lustre:
The fountain gushing with wisdom
Polluted streams of ponderous
Youth. Those days we drank in the heathen house
Tea of starry night obsidian
And we the stars, the starry winders
The barbarians of unintelligable tounge.