The vagaries of pomp,
as befitting a man…
power corrupts him totally.
So then, prepare a table before me
in the presence of mine enemies.
But do I give myself to fortune,
which has not will
My own will has been a weak support.
Are “Truth” and “the Good”, transient;
I say now this is truth:
the unending Holy See of time and space,
the darkness dance of the heavens
eons after man has slept.
Deny it then:
we are supplicant before the reliquary void.