Sonnet to a Masquerade

Sonnet to a Masquerade

Cascading from the streets the streamers fell
Around us. Masks of smirking playfulness
Surround us like a carnival from Hell.
Chasing lusts, past the church that we should miss
Our race freely takes the heathen hues
That adorns our dresses, suits and jewels:
Fuchsia, purple, do not our Father amuse.
Sweet liquor flows down forming the vast pools
Which we drink greedily from the street.
The strangers behind the masks give long
Desiring looks, bidding that we meet.
The young night arises a lone sad song;
Of unholy chaos and lost little lambs,
All victims of this devilish scam.