Small Talk

"Succumbed to vice, of Heaven born,
Artifice of transgression in angelic form,
Resplendent Lucifer famed in days of yore  —
I, a malefactor apt for ruinous fault(...)Let it hiss on — the music of decay,
The only hymn the under-soil will pray.
Thy light burns proud, but even flame must fade;
The worm inherits what the sun betrayed.
Each kingdom shatters where the root takes hold;
The grave remembers longer than the gold(...)Thou fiery wanderer, pale as bone, What plough hast thou brought here to till my stone? Here seeds are sown with rot, not gold; they feed On mold where wisdom festers as a seed(...)"

Small Talk

Mike Voss