Sacrifice Poem by Mary Champion

They process towards the holy cavern
as generations have done before them,
driven by custom, the need to belong.
Pounding drums beat their hypnotic rhythm.

Their minds slowly begin to coalesce -
no more a crowd -but an organism.
Blindly led by the wild charismatic
they enter into the dark mystery.

The flickering flames of their crude torches
cast distorted shadows on the rockface
and now the mesmeric chanting begins.
The voice of reason is completely stilled.

Deeper and deeper into the chamber -
finally, they enter the hallowed space
and the rhythm becomes frenetic,
the chanting attains a more fevered tone.

The chosen scapegoat, bound by rough ropes,
anaesthetized by mass hysteria,
is laid unresisting on the altar.
The mad-eyed shaman raises his left arm,

ceremonial dagger in his hand.
The chant becomes a single high-pitched howl
as the weapon approaches its target.
Then silence! The sacrifice has been made.

The supposed anger of the Gods appeased,
the hunters will return laden with game.

The fresh blood flows across the sacred stone,
slowly congealing and growing darker.
The organism reverts to a crowd.
Watching, from a safe distance, the Gods weep.