The Flagellator

by Erik Houdini

The blood flowed as I whipped,
Whipped, and whipped again.
Each sting, each strike--a remorse,
The burden that those carried,
For what's sown must be reaped.

The blood flowed, rivers once great,
Each sting, each strike, muscular quivers create.

Atop this tower, worn and grand,
A wasteland view of loss and pain.
A story told of man's great hand,
A world of radiance, now stained.
From green to sand, the wasteland expands,
A war by man, on lamb, is won--in vain.

Exposed, the ropey sinew, bared,
I whipped again, the air was snared.
Each sting, each strike, a species lost,
The whip, the pain, the heavy cost.
No pain compares to sin ordained,
They're gone, yet we remain, unstained.

The blood flowed, like rivers once great,
Each sting, each strike, skeletal shivers create.

Each sting, each strike, apologies bear,
To what was stripped, to what was bare.
Salvation sought for days of sin,
Charon's river overflows its brim.
Hades' waiting room, in ecological bloom.