There are moments
When goodness turns into malice
And fair intent sours.
During these brief moments,
I am
On occasions,
Crazed, eyes blood shot
On Thirst,
Bent on achieving not some,
But grudgingly
All the satisfactions.
So I turn to the Dark,
To the face of damnation.
And I see in the sinister
A terrible,
Irresistible
Force,
From which arises
The careless power
To quench my crooked needs—
To be the Golden Apple
Atop the highest pinnacle—
Divine, poisonous,
Rotten, and ageless;
Desired by all
And fatal—
Thus, I take a sip
From the deadly well.
And Soon,
I am overcome
By a restless adrenaline
Immense to the point of
Diabolical.
Suddenly, it is revealed to me
Just what a thrill it can be
To put on the Devil’s facade
And play the laughing wicked.
I decide to take to the slaughter,
And Oh!
How are they so belittled!
As if a gentle “tap,”
And they are torn apart!
Pleased—
Maniacally,
I move closer—
Seeing this lot,
These lambs to be butchered,
Standing and grazing there—
Mostly unwary;
Some a nuisance;
Some even vicious.
Yet
Regardless of the little good
And much foolishness I see,
They are all familiar,
All
More or less
Like me—
Undeniably human, limited,
And only so vile.
Then how could I strike down
The the ruthless sword
Knowing that I
Too am
Helplessly mortal
And bound to the ground?
Particular Moments 