Just as the sunfish flashes his light to the reeds below, our

Vanity glimmers misguided notions lighting up the pages

Of a dark book. Moonlight slips inside our closed eyes.

Vanity is like a drug hiding secretly in the serpent’s house;

All the vain loved it and drank it all the way down to the

Serpent’s tail. There is no mildness of pride in the dregs.

As we float in the shadows waiting for the light of heaven,

Our mouths open wide to flatter only the endless images in

The Hall of Mirrors to be later smashed in the House of Lament.

Our shrieks of delight comes from the fallen thuds of prized

Kills as the light from our vanity kills the bulls on the surface;

The prizes of those killed mounts adorn the walls of our pride.

There is nothing in our dark book but goodbye to innocence and

Modesty; hereafter, a drowsy numbness pains our senses and the

Only thing we can feel is loud guns and cries from the place of war

And, from the spoils of war and shattered peace, there is further

Adornment on the pedestals of our vanity and the catharsis of

Widows are banned- sent to wailing walls far from our present gaze.

In between the clapping from the tally of pride lies unheard the regret

From all the rash profit we attained as the light filmed our vanities. None

Of us are free from knee bending when our names are read in the dark book.

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