Sacrament

Sacrament


It’s not like a meal, sustenance, mere reward
of stemming hunger.  Blood lust, full-on sensual
feast, a kind of timeless ecstasy, like that other
lust I know only by stories heard or read.
Death can be escape.  I don’t know about souls,
reincarnations, gods’ kingdoms in other realms.
Those were not my afterdeath experience.
For my kind death is merely prologue.
Feeding is escape, if only for miniscule
duration in the long scheme,
for that thrilling moment there is nothing else.
No memories, fears or even a feeling of now.
I am all senses, overwhelmed, holy as any
transubstantiation.  I am not reason or even
consciousness in such state of instinct
necessity.  Hot, pumping pleasure, mystical
bliss as raw energy feeds into me.
I become as if new, as if cleansed and free.
While the spell, trance, religious experience
endures, I am existence pure without value
or judgment.  Merging of nature and supernature
fill my small vessel as if I were worthy of grace.
No guilt, no loathing, abject apology silently
screamed into the consciousness that always
returns can mitigate, speak in my favor, absolve
my crimes.  I always deserve worse pain,
punishment; no suffering can suffice.
Yet, no good outcome balances as result of
such retribution.  No victim is compensated.
No death is undone.  No sweet rush, pitiful
victory of insane joy in conquest is nullified
or prevented.
There are those of my kind who revel in their
superiority, immortal evil, gay dance of night.
It seems easy enough a trick to learn, to love
only oneself with complete acceptance and
entitlement.  Who am I to judge what fate
has made?  I have heard it said that happiness
is gratitude for what we have.
I have heard that salvation begins with true
repentance, with allowing a higher power
to rule one’s actions.
These mortal sayings seem to have no
relevance to my experience.
There is no salvation without some kind
of death.  Does that mean I have been saved
by and for evil?
Am I an alternate angel, dark and wingless?
Can I take any comfort in the smallness of
my violence in light of mortal wars?
No, I am not soldier trained by sophisticated
propaganda.  A solitary practitioner without
pressure of peers or superiors, I have only myself
to blame.