Author Information
Vanity
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The Damien books Every man at his best is vanity
Through neon dreams and surrogate wings
Though ages shall pass and knowledge bestow
The more a man learns, the less he knows
And grows the pallor of his lips
When night shall fall with the torment of bliss
He awakens stiffly from a dream
Back in the hand of surrogate wings
A waiting place awaits his reprise
When day falls swiftly into night
The yearn for some intangible face
Has brought him into this halllowed place
In this silence of the soul
The solace he gains is the wisdom of old
The knowledge that the only thing worthy to know
Consists in knowing that nothing he knows
The spirit burning from cults of flames
Of pains, and drains, and cold glass frames
The empty faces of yesterday’s shame
Are tomorrow’s sages, tomorrow’s gain
A devil in sheepskin, an angel in rags
A fallen life to save
Yet always and only do draw near at hand
The scars which have kept from the grave
He thrusts his fists against the post
And still insists he sees the ghost
As Jacob would wrestle Jehovah ‘till dawn
I am that I am, and a blessing was won
Nor serpent, nor venom, nor goat, nor swine
Nor prophet, nor dragon, nor eternity’s rhyme
Not even the most loveless, lifeless place
Shall separate man from his grace
