In that bleak world, truth betrays no hope.

He, sordid, shall solemnly walk towards that crash,

Roaming along, in light of the score.

He will soon come to rest near that body;

Before long, that hunger will realize before he.

Then, his skin will caress that edge.

Ever closer, he will near the tempting edge.

He feels that, with the pain of indulging, he can see hope.

Soon, upon that foolish action, he will realize

The axiom, that shouldn’t be perturbed, will crash.

With that, he, too, will collapse with that pillar, mind and body.

That is when the stage had raised its score.

Poor he played along with the maestro’s score.

To a new cliff, one not enticing as before, but it is an acute edge

That will mar that still pure, clear, now free, body.

Further, he will look beyond the crags and drift, hope

Boiling. Before that grasp, he extends his limbs towards the drifting light and then there is a crash.

No sooner than when he feels the warming depths, his mind forces him to realize.

And there, that hope beyond his grasp did realize.

Before that remembrance of his, his will made him score.

Wickedness, the one that had so plagued him dearly, in the light, its crash

Did meet his healthy edge.

See, it was happenchance growth that spurred that vice, it was the hope.

Only after he had reared the conviction himself could he then unburden his disfigured body.

It was only through that trouble that he could body,

Realize,

That long-forgotten and devoured hope.

He had truly been blinded by his lust and greed, his craving made him forget the score.

Fortunately, now able to walk forward, he could drag himself back over the edge;

Over that pit that he had dug for himself. His steady steps over that tomb it did not permit him to crash.

Only now did that, once protective but now encapsulating, lid crash;

The shackling cover slid from his manifest body.

Clear, he drew upon that top, and gripped its edge.

That large and unwieldy veil was little more than a mantle he could don. But he did realize

It was something that he should wear with pride, despite the enormous score.

One scar, among the countless others on that guard, was larger. It would remind him of his hope.

That sharp edge along that plane is his hope.

Upon his fair body, he was only assured of his growing score.

With each minor crash, he would only yet realize.