---

A forever smoldering mote of ash
Lands on the autumnal forest floor
And rests and eternity waiting to become
The cancer-catalyst of ignorant man.
He signs in his blood the contract:
"Take me in the name of hubris,
Let this horrid wound never heal."

And the thinks himself a philosopher
That he has done right.
The ash burns a hole in the leaves
Turns mud to cinder.
Creates soot from veins.

He meditates and finds meaning
While the mote draws ashen circles on the earth.
It won't be washed away: this stain
It takes the shape of art.
It holds your hand in the blackness of despair.
Metastasizes in your blood.
It pries open your minds eye and forces itself inside.

Every corner becomes a hole
Which widens into the abyss.
Every wall collapses inwards,
Dissolves into dust.
Every reason to live is inverted,
Death comes to mean more.
Every day stretches to eons,
A never-setting sun.

Every corner becomes a hole.
Every wall collapses inwards.

Satan,
Or that ever-rapturous presence billowing
'Cross the world.
Take me in the name of hubris,
Let this horrid wound never heal.

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