The Vanity Of Kane

It lives inside darkness

This forever

Whispering sonnets

From the moon's cradle

Words never to be spoken

Sound tragic to the unchosen

And thus hearts bleed

With the fear of Adam

I don't understand

For I am above

And he who humblif himself

Shall be granted love

Hence the world's problem

Hence our dilemma

And with a fit of laughter

I baptize vanity

A raging clown 

No more than a jester

And in his Pompous avenues

Of self delusion he is master

At least for now

In his material

For only in being what he is 

Can he reap

So plough the field

Until the valley of the deep shall find thee

Cruel servant

Vile sorcerer

I resent thee

For thee has spoken

A Poem by Liam Herdman

CTID