The Feast of Decay

Foolishness and Error walk hand in hand,
Their chains bind tight both soul and flesh,
As Man, enthralled by shadows grand,
Nourishes guilt, though bound afresh.

Sin stands defiant, repentance meek,
While trembling vows the spirit drain.
In tears, Man finds the peace they seek,
Yet falls to murk and mire again.

Enthroned above, the Devil grins,
Craftsman of craft, he works unseen;
He shapes our will like molten glass,
And hones our lead to keep it mean.

The Devil's strings direct the dance,
With foul delights our steps descend,
One pull, one foot in Hell’s expanse,
Blindly we march where vapors wend.

As Man devours the world’s decay,
To feed a thirst that knows no end,
With grasping hands, we steal away,
Clutching for pleasures that offend.

A hive of demons hums and writhes,
They swarm within our fevered breath,
And at each gasp, the river dives,
Flowing from Life to darker Death.

In fire, blood, the sword’s embrace,
Where chaos leaps, the shadows play;
A canvas frail holds no disgrace—
Save cowardice to join the fray!

In dens of beasts with gnashing jaws,
With serpents coiled, with talons bare,
The Devil mocks at mortal flaws
And feeds upon our deep despair.

But one more foul than serpent’s fangs,
Stilled and withdrawn, cold-hearted, bored,
Who from Creation’s great heart hangs,
And yawns at Life, a god ignored.

Boredom, draped in lethargy,
With hollow dreams and lifeless stare,
Sees all the world in mockery,
A yawn of Death beyond repair.

Would ye not rise and cast him out?
In vibrant song, with voices keen
For Boredom, veiled by fog and doubt,
Drinks joy, and kills all sight unseen.