Great heights seen from abysmal depths,
moments pass without meaning,
yet they linger nonetheless;
faces etched onto a morose mind,
touching solitary nerves raw;
accursed scars conceal lost recollections,
of fresh flesh.
The middle view,
bore witness to manufactured serenity,
a luccite paradise,
where the wild was but a fading dream
and life was too familiar to be true.
Wading in clinical water,
filled with civil beasts gazing at a distance,
beyond day and night,
they crave eternity, as much as fresh flesh;
they brought the heavens down,
for amusement and pleasure;
the civil beasts proclaimed it to be good,
returned to luxury,
and there it rested.
Alas, the die was cast,
and there it appeared,
Decadence's meancing grip!
Ensnared in its vice,
struggling with atrophied limbs,
the collapse could not be resisted;
as the artifice neared its end,
innocent origins that never were,
would never be again.
The view from top,
facile and mundane,
beautifully inane;
light's source a divine orifice,
darkness its mate,
weaving eternity and void,
together again?
What was shall never be,
Fresh flesh and rebirth,
founded in the belly of sin.
