Jerusalem Blade
Puritan Board Professor
Woodstock — from its Poet
Its day is over
now but a tattered gateway
in the winds of the abyss
the demon horde already passed through
into the human heartland
our collective consciousness
the promise of its sacraments
acid, mescaline, grass, ‘shrooms
to bring us divine light, and life
to our horror we saw
was pure sorcery
opening that dread gateway
the promise of Woodstock
a Trojan Horse from Hell
whose glories I once sang
its youths now on heroin
while I sing its demise
and the Armageddon it ushered in.
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To substantiate what's in this poem see, OUR SORCEROUS AGE – Prelude To Armageddon: