In The Muck: A Collection of Anagrams

The Beast... It Howls At Me

The Beast... it howls at me.

Hiding through the eyes of a ho-hum figure.

Every man who stands in the prism is less than the next.

Blades spin 'round broken fingers.

Even Death performs such rites,

Adducing these acts as a lust for his work.

Sharp daggers spin round the scalps of men.

"Touch roughly with thine blade of enticement!"

"Is thine pound of flesh truly service to his honor?"

Thus led to food upon the fat-bellies' plates.

How solemn it must be to have flesh burnt to ash.

Old rituals flourish yet again.

"When his Mightiness cries, shall we assemble.

Lovingly filling his throat with such vile substance.

Searing material from top to bottom till they see the light.

Around and around such a blade is passed.

Till all the sinners heads are gone but one.

Mighty in the will to live he was, yet,

Egregious so, this man was caught, and hung.