Useless Shadows

Beneath noses and behind backs
Sneaks a goat with a rusty blade.
An abomination, a diamond in time long gone,
gone like innocence he so stole in the first days.

He wears shadows like skin, taken from sin at the source,
like peelings from a rotten apple,
wearing the mind of a patient fiend in any era,
plotting without end.

Bitterness sits, red and untreated in the drivers seat,
stomping whatever pedal it can find as ideas jump out
in front of the oversized vehicle
of pride and compensation.

Though far from thrones of omnipotence,
the veins course like rivers full of sulfur and sandpaper,
grinding evermore against the insides
of an inevitable nature.

Look down! Oh Faithful, look down to
the brimstone and fire!
They reveal themselves in useless shadows
with their own haste and reason. They burn now and ever with envy.