The Masked Ball of Geometry

The hour hand creeps its prescribed path,
along the 2Πr towards the bells,
while princes, harlequins and thieves,
with priests, and knaves, and ne’er-do-wells,
dance on to drums and violins,
their masks in place to hide their sins.

Their shadows cast by rising flames,
become the madman’s geometric games,
black swastikas and jagged Zs,
symbols of the beast that waits,
in the cold and moonless night,
that lies beyond the mansion gates.