Bacchanalian Festival Poem by DAVID GERARDINO

THE doors are open
the lights are on
come on in, its time for our -bacchanalian festival
the smell of pot
the smell of alcohol
the smell of sex
the smell of anger
the smell of fear
welcome my friend or enemy to my -bacchanalian festival
where all your perversons are welcome and best of all
every one is doing it.
so thier is no sin
then the drugs wear off
then the night fades away and sun light becomes a cures
for your druken eyes.
Then you look up and see a sighn.
welcome to my bacchanalian festival.