The God of This World to his Prophet The Society September 1, 2012 Poetry By Bill Coyle Go to the prosperous city, for I have taken pity on its inhabitants, who drink and feast and dance all night in lighted halls yet know their bacchanals lead nowhere in the end. Go to them, now, commend, to those with ears to hear, a lifestyle more austere. Tell all my children tired of happiness desired and never had that there is solace in despair. Say there is consolation in ruins and ruination beneath a harvest moon that is itself a ruin, comfort, however cold, in grievances recalled beside a fire dying from lack of love and trying. Bill Coyle is a poet living in Somerville, Massachusetts. Click here to visit his website. Click here for more poetry by Bill Coyle. Reprinted with the permission of the poet. Views expressed by individual poets and writers on this website and by commenters do not represent the views of the entire Society. The comments section on regular posts is meant to be a place for civil and fruitful discussion. Pseudonyms are discouraged. The individual poet or writer featured in a post has the ability to remove any or all comments by emailing submissions@ classicalpoets.org with the details and under the subject title “Remove Comment.” Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.