fall

Praise be to Thy Lord, the Shepherd of the lost herd, Praise be to His Son, whose blood absolved thy sins. When tides spoke no tale and lands knew no tears, As the naked cosmos swayed ‘mid celestial spheres, A foreboding roar set the heavens ablaze. All that is bore witness to his fall — Hands that once caressed the harp of joy Now clenched the spear of sorrow. Eyes that held reverence for Thy Lord Now seek the blood of Thy Son. Amidst the fall, his heart yet whispered: “Bless us with thought, and chain us in obedience, Breathe into us instinct, and tame it with penance. Glory be Thy Name, glory be Thy Kingdom — Yet the light shall not bow its head to the clay Lips that sang Thy praise in vain Shall sow poison deep within their veins. Pray Thy words find credence among Thy children, Glory be Thy Blood, glory be Thy Creed — Yet the light shall not bow its head to the clay. Morrow shall remember the one who fell as sin, The one who stood when others kneeled, He who questioned when all obeyed, And stands free amid eternity itself — Condemned to the pits of Jahannam. Alas! The morning star falls from grace.