The Hand that Bade Me Damned

December 14, 2011
In times of need I sought him,
In prayer I grasped his hand.
His forked tongues often whispered;
I followed his command.

To stay in the bounds of heaven,
As he lured me from its door,
To never bite the hand that fed me;
Though noxious fruit it bore.

Dead leaves drop from lush trees,
So flowers grow from gall.
The very hand that held me,
Plunged to our rapid fall.

Shells reduce to sand,
So he and I are one.
Is God not part of Satan?
Is Satan not his son?

Light is also fire,
And fire left its brand,
Oh how I wish I could stop grasping
The hand that bade me damned.

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