In silken whispers where secrets creep,
Corruption offers its promised treat,
A gilded veil of whispered lies,
Beneath the mask, where truth resides.

It wears the crown of untold power,
In every stolen, fleeting hour,
A symphony of Despair's deceit,
Where every promise turns to fleet.

Its beauty blooms in gilded gold,
In Malice's hands that never fold,
The world it spins is dark, yet bright,
A marriage of Fear and of Might.

It moves through hearts and quiet hands,
A fleeting grace that understands
The fragile dance of want and need,
Where all is sold, and none are freed.

In fertile souls it plants a seed,
Of whispered wants and Avarice's greed,
Yet still they chase, with yearning eyes,
The twisted glow of Light's lies.

So here stand we, entranced, beguiled,
By beauty born of love defiled,
For in its ruin, we see far:
The vision of truth of what we are.


Penned by my hand on Closday, the 8th of Haernos, in the year 7 AC.