Sacrifices

"Echo and Narcissus" by John William Waterhouse

Beyond the Age of Sacrifice

Just what God needs
One more victim . . .
—Tori Amos, “Crucify”

Narcissus sees only his own perfect reflection
everything that happens happens
            outside
                        himself

I am done with sacrifices

I am done with sacrifices

            Echo adores him from beside the brook
            Cyrix whispers tunes he hears with no appreciation

Done with sacrifice . . .
            with sacrifice . . .
                    sacrifices done . . .

Still the Cyrix plays to the fell wind
                       plays to a blue sky
                       plays to a still pool

                        deeply troubled
                        deeply troubled
                                    with sacrifices
                                                         done

His brother the moon looks down
from cloud-city heights, aloof
views truth from a different perspective
weeps raindrops to flood the plains, bloat the brook
and dilute the perfect illusion of its perfect lies
hoping, hoping, hoping
                                   to
                                    s
                                      w
                                         a
                                            y
                                                 Narcissus 

Darkness encroaches, inimical savior
                                   inimical judge 

Brother moon in his sapphire temple
chases his Pleiad wife and her two sons
to havens, a poor father need-crazed to save
            what can be saved
                        what can be saved?
                                    what can be saved?
                                                                 be saved?
                                                                               saved?

How many nights must Moon surrender?
What is the end of sacrifice?
          A time comes when a man
                                  when a man must
                                                   a man must
         must release yesterdays . . .
                               release yesterday’s sins
                                            yesterday’s black venom
                                            yesterdays’ brutal childhood
                                                                in that house of shame
                                                                in that house of violence
                                                                in that house of pain
                                                                                      and loathing
                                                                in that hell of voices raging
                                                                                   in that hell
                                                                                       that hell

Still the Cyrix plays to the fell wind
            plays to a blue sky
            plays to a still pool
                        deeply troubled
                        deeply troubled
                                    with sacrifices
                                                                  done

to trouble the moon
                      trouble the moon
                     trouble moon
                                 moon trouble
                     sin & sacrifice
                                             sacrifice

When comes the end of patience?
            Patience is the ocean, whispers Moon
                               the ocean . . .
                                    to wax
                                              to wane
             it is the nature and cycle
                                      of all things
                                                          of all things
                                                                    all things

 Still Cyrix plays to the fell wind
            plays to a blue sky
            plays to a still pool
            in a yellow minor key
                        golden minor
                        deeply troubled
                        deeply troubled
                                    with sacrifices
                                                done

 Tonight’s tide leaves dry all the world’s beaches
Moon withholds his golden brilliance
            Am I not beyond
                        the age of sacrifice?
                                    beyond the age
                                                            sacrifice . . .

In drunken chuckle is heard
final echo of the Bacchanal—
final verse in voice of Orpheus:
            Self-immolation ends, my friends
                         in ultimate catharsis
                               only in apotheosis

David M Pitchford
20 June 2008
Rev 8 December 2008