Before his face, a glass was held,
Of a reproachful sort,
And no matter how much he restrained his palm,
His lips quivered, and lusted a lust that no man,
Could turn away from.
Placing the liquid within his body,
The liquor of hubris,
The hubris of damnation,
He strived to elude a prophecy,
Outset so long ago.
The sightless saw more,
Then he could ever see,
As the unearthing of a life so fowl,
So mendacious in its form,
Devastated his very pride.
He cried for conformity
As he blindly stumbled about,
Blood surging from an open wound,
His eyes placed upon the floorboards,
His only mother,
Breathed in silence beneath his form.
His daughters, his incestuous faults,
Cried in compassion and trepidation,
As their father,
Their eldest brother,
Strolled begrudgingly from an accursed throne,
Banished from their sight forevermore.
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