A Saint's Fall From Grace

He walked on the sunken clouds and bragged of his ever so graceful misery, the night was his prey,
On the feat of his hand molded history.

He held gods shiny finger and gave it a kiss but all too well were his eyes fixated on a rusting wish,
Heaven and Hell held him a lie at a time,
His voice never echoed in the golden rod that pushed him behind, behind angel wings,
Behind devil horns.

His dancing love was pure when he dipped his toes in the blood of infinite leaves, every root cemented his emotions with a fire that locked in oblivion and released hate,
His grinding teeth now shattered,
The pressure was rough and the moon had no sympathy for his father or his son,
The white light then blasted him to the realm of voidless color,
Through ripples of darkness he escaped but not without the blood he harvested being tattooed on his skin,
He grew weaker as his head sunk in.

His wisdom was sucked from his hunger and his power was locked so deep under that he never caught a glimpse again,
He sought to begin but instead he would end,
End in the horns of demons that purged all of the laughter he freely had earned,
Suckled and dry he crashed on a molding stone, there he bleed for years,
Mocking him were his bloodborne tears,
Forever had descended on the isle of the raven,
He looked to be free but now no one could save him.