BLACK OPS

This one’s for you,
Dark master of the black arts,
Taking pleasure in misguiding hearts,
Your bill has come due.

No need to pay in full
That would make it real.
Better it takes you piecemeal
To watch you slowly dull

Beneath the weight
Of your obligations
And filial tribulations
That convert love to hate

And joy to sorrow.
For the Muse has deserted you
And your health lies in ruin.
All the gifts of tomorrow

Lay out of reach.
Shelved by your own hand
They withered in the sands
Of time now beached

And forgotten.
Cry to the heavens, if you will,
Your cause cannot be fulfilled
For Heaven is deaf and wiser men

Than you know it.
They stay on their knees
And take what’s given, not seized
By vanity and childish fit.

But yours will fold
Surely as all the rest and
When you topple, I will see you fall
Into the Black Hand that holds

You in its grip.
Into the mist, you will fade away,
Once king now but prisoner and prey,
Forever aboard an ill-fated ship.

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