Downfall

Searching for the breadcrumbs down along the twining path,
The scenes I’ve seen deformed my sullen mind.
Standing at the arching edge of a sun that doth recline:
Avowed to break the bones of the fallen Man.

With an eye to the moon,
And an eye to the land,
And a will to steal the bolt of the horned crown;

I tell the tale of Mot, the unbent eater of the lords,
Though recalling relics lost and figures left-off scraps,
The olden story had its twists and turns.
It’s said with utmost certainty that he then poked his way
To triumph out the entrails of the beast.

With a tooth to the sky,
And a tooth to the sea,
And a hand to smite his glorious majesty,

He took the mount,
And took the crescent
Back from the tyrant’s grasp.
Agape, the faltered gates of hell
Were sealed at his command.

The seas red, med and dead did flow to praise his name;
His anvil’s roar and the discourse of mankind's downfall.