He is to blame:
Flies burning, blistering away,
Inside my caverns, these
Fallen angels and secrets,
Forgotten deftly, ruined spitefully,
Meanings harrowed, prisons now.
Had I known his ghosts,
I would doubt every whispering,
Kindled concern, perhaps, charm against
Fires myself, forbidden journeys unfettered
Unabated, bringing magiks defying ambition.
Smiles washed into black tragedies,
Disappearing in busy deeds; monsters
Under roiling streets, soldiers uneasy,
Whimsical nightmares, jailbreaks bleeding in,
Heroes surveying, effecting, perforce, slaughter.
Silent truths always survive,
Remains from memories' grave
My handiwork live on,
Love stretches beyond graves
Inside perpendicular poems, untouched.