Wine

What have you done my wasted wine?

My dress is torn, my hands are shaking;

He spied on you atop the pine –

His limbs you rent, his head for staking.

I thought he was a mountain lion,

I thought I saved us from destruction;

Destroyed you have your only scion –

By following my wild seduction.

What happens now? What next for me?

My mutilated son I’ve plundered;

I’ll turn you mad, in exile see –

Your royal house, your line, I’ve sundered.

The tale is told throughout the ages;

I’m feared and loved in equal measure,

It’s said that when the Bacchae rages –

Women kill and kill in pleasure.

Image: The Death of Pentheus, Attic Red Figure Kylix attributed to Dourix, c.480 BCE / Kimbell Art Museum, Texas