Noctis of Narcissus

In the glorious light of the glowing pallid moon of night, the child of unparalleled beauty is born

Gifted with every advantage over her female competition, by her image is every man made to swoon

Yet, of every outward beauty and sign of strength, ugliness and debilitation being deeply buried beneath

Unseen by the blinded men bowing before her, and the women woefully greening upon her passing

Man’s riches effortlessly fall into her coffers, for the world pays only for the visions that it can see

For more lovely is she than the Narcissus Flower jestingly bowing at her from the rushing riverbank

Stinking of the sickly sweet scent of self-adoration, its fleeting form reflecting off of the river’s surface

For inwardly does the devouring darkness descend, yinning the yang of impending unburdening balance

And blithely does the false, fooling idol of femininity carry on counting the teeming treasures of the time

For the eyes of Noctis of Narcissus conquer with a gaze, hiding the inward stare of their blinding haze

Her emblazoned hair as red as the fire of all passion, consuming all of the wisdom she knows not to seek

In self-glorification she sings in relentless renunciation of any daring to dive into the depths of the river

“Do you not see the endless throng groveling after me, yee deluded seekers of all that’s been found?!”

Yet, upon paying the toll taken by time, her face is wizened, and her beseeching heart is finally heard

Turning, the toadying throng disperses into the river, splashing her with all the chilling truths of herself

“Hear me, hear me!,” she cries, upon the now cruelly reflective riverbank where vanity dies

Upon deafly drowned ears her desperate calls fall, for those looking for what to hear, hear nothing at all

Yet, those coldly dismissed during her malice of magnificence crawl up slow and sure from the depths

“We hear your long-submerged pains,” they say, “for you can finally see those pridefully driven away”

They tell tales of nature’s defining equilibrium, the taking of the fortune of the famed, of fate untamed

Nothing stays the same, causes call for effect, the very waning of the waxed moon from which you came

You traded enrichments found by the few for fool’s gold, so your rotting riches may look well upon you

Seeming of strength to those fooled by common-most sight, your inwardly weakening pretense of might

Once bursting with the treasures reflecting the brightness of day, spend now the stars of nighttime decay