The chamber reverberates,
“I’m no good at this.”
These broken sounds match darkened walls.
Thoughts smashed together, move like crashing symbols.
Whispers drip down blood lines,
“…no good at this. We’ve made sure of it.”
Each unchecked word, spin.
Each unchecked word, a win.
So the servants of the serpent mumble.
“Yesss, no good at all.”
Villainy employs the surrendered,
And the surrendered seek to make their mark.
But these foundations tremble.
Impossible cracks appear in the dark.
With sporadic veracity,
Light, like lightning, sparks.
As signs abound,
“kommen das Gott von Veritas!”
(Art: John Martin, 1824. Creation of Light, (Paradise Lost – Book 7)