The Birth of an Unholy One
In a pristine white room
Stands a smiling youth—
His eyes as clear as an ancient well,
His hair as smooth as a spider’s web,
And his flesh soft as granite.
What majestic being!
This...
An unholy vessel,
Whose praises should we sing?
A piece of art—
Capable of completing itself,
Growing and unfolding beyond the maker’s hands,
Then shattering,
Returning to its most primordial state.
As if the world had been flipped,
Then a mirror was placed
Facing the ground.
A disturbing presence
Proclaimed a child.
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