The shades of yesteryear haunt thy soul as
The dark dreams of tomorrow scream on in
Spite. For what is life but dark minds sequinned
With bloody desires, sweet mendacity
Its only mask, sin its only sanctum?
Contrast the look with intent – this beauty
Hides but the bitter poison of malice
Conceived in Hell and wept in blood. This be
Not life, not light at all; we crouch trembling
In shadow as Death stalks our empty eyes –
Souls taken, now for the pane. For, look:
The angels are blind.
