Ankle-deep in brackish brine
nostril-thick with cloying nectar and sulphur
they've forgotten all but the Fall
The devil was always people
and in their hand has ever been the rudder
of this half-submerged ship
in which we troll the river styx
for elusive, silver-sided flashes
glimpsed distorted through the ripples
of addled consciousness
Nestled unseen in the hindbrain
is the titan-toppling Pride
that made them significant enough
to merit a revolution in the order of the universe
Does anyone yet remember, clearly, Pride?
That hand-crafted self-destiny
Denial that error or flaw is intrinsic
What sin were it to never stoop, never bow
were there none to bow to?
Oh Pride, you compost heap of unrequited hypercapacity
slut for yourself alone
seeding your regrowth with each demise
such heights and depths you attain!
The devil is always people
and in their hand is ever the rudder
and with turbid, Babelling enterprise
they've made of their own essence
a field of war
where every blow struck is struck internal
and swaths of weaponized impatience
carve blackened troughs
through their own modes of thought
Oh Pride, renew destiny!
Oh Purpose be not forgotten nor bestowed!
