Fateful Reign
Black poison mist overrides
mystery moonbeams in misery,
the howling of beast and worms
swallow the remnants of your hollow
sphere. Do the parts of our end
qualify the price of your beginnings?
Are you a worthless apostle, sinner
sadist or saint? Which side of a human
canvas reveals your paint? We'd like to
be Dorian, impervious to faint before
that torrid portrait, its touch never to taint.
Immortality is a trance, a worthless dance
that treads a death like an impermanent
romance, deeds doth done. A lost path to
that paradise of exalted traitors, evildoers,
users and takers, all and none.
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