Its heart spews filth, and carries that fame
Of one condemned from a cherubim past;
It sleeps in the grave and eats the earth’s dust
And rebels by trapping the Just.
Impudent to the Source, it treks the dark
Tailor-made for mischief and discord;
On its belly it crawls and roams the sacred
Soil, where men deify the sword.
The god of gore and sullen decadence,
His ken a mark of his years
In the trade; It knows no other, vicious way
Than this: It eats the spirit with sharpened blades.
Softens the sinews of the willing
Knaves, weaving the truth
With lies; Feeding the fools with Turkish delight
And seals and damns he who willingly dies.
Pride is sown in the mind, next
Sin — its promise of fame tricks the kind;
As artfully as it crawls, it sheds its skin,
To earmark the naïve with binds.
Roaming the earth, the serpent reigns
Prevalent, its back ‘gainst weeping skies.
He that knows, woe to him when he bites
The bait, and believes its appealing lies.
The serpent covets more than any lover,
In its house there is room for more;
And it most assuredly holds preference
For cheats, for whom there’s so much in store.
Man’s strength is futile to eclipse it,
Robs resistance from even the stone;
All recognized hardness melts
In the pit, midst the carnage
Of flesh and bones.
He who can conquer the death
With life, He who can conquer perdition;
He who can lord o’er the Prince
Of the strife, undoubtedly, holds dominion.