The Almonry

Inanition
Forced me to walk
In truculent torpidity
Who better than you to know
The peregrinations of a 
Warmonger.

My egress from
A cage of hostility
To an open
Chancel of death.

It read
'almonry'
With the y turned wrong
And a recusant's song
Of religion.

My white surplice turned red
The red of life , not death.
As my war gave me nothing
But a stomach yet to be fed.

Two puppets playing whist
With arms akimbo
I wonder who moved the cards.

My short travel came to an end
When I saw the 'place'
Adumbrating
Food and drink and health.

And when I walked
My surplice flocked
Itself around my knees
And when I saw
The food grains raw
Dried lips did utter 'please'

And when they handed me the bowl
I saw it for what it was
An empty skull,
upside down
Two empty eyes
A fading frown
Of life.

And when I went to drink the wine
I tasted it for what it was.
Blood.
Red, nonetheless.