The goats head looks up from the silver platter, covered in the soft leaves of grape plants
Dark stabbing forks enter, no tact withheld, stabbing, crucifying.
They feast on the soul of the beast, their mouths guilty,
The mind drifts, watching, looking upward, searing pain rips through the flesh.
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Wow, This is deep and capturing, a great write W.G.! A pleasure to read indeed! *10*! Friend Thad