In shadows cast by our own hands,
We weave the webs that bind the weak,
A smile conceals the sharpened plans,
Where kindness cracks and motives leak.
Evil whispers in the ear of pride,
Turning brothers into foes who hide.
The heart that harbours silent greed
Devours dreams in quiet night,
No horns required for the deed –
Just human hunger, out of sight.
We trade our souls for fleeting gold,
And call it progress, brave and bold.
Beneath the veil of righteous fire,
Wars are waged in virtue’s name,
Where evil thrives in false attire,
And innocence becomes the game.
No devil pulls the strings above –
It’s us who push, who feign the love.
The child who learns to twist the truth,
Grows roots in soil of borrowed lies,
Evil blooms from tender youth,
In playground taunts and stolen cries.
We nurture it with every slight,
A garden dark, devoid of light.
Yet in the mirror’s honest gaze,
We glimpse the beast we dare not claim,
Evil’s face in our own ways,
A reflection bearing no one’s blame.
No exile to some fiery pit –
It’s woven deep, where we admit.
We blame the flames upon the hoofed,
Invent bright red to cloak the blame,
A devil lurking, horned and stoofed –
When really, evil wears our name.
A scapegoat sporting brimstone skin
Distracts us from our daily sin.
Why conjure fiends with pitchforks drawn
When envy burns in neighbour’s eyes?
Our demons wear a clean cologne,
And hurt each other in disguise.
Forgive his myth, this fallen thing –
We’ve mustered worse on mortal wing.
Perhaps it soothes to point below,
Accuse some fiend with cursed cause;
But monsters mortals truly know
Are crafted with our mortal flaws.
No underworld need interfere –
Our hell is plainly waiting here.
© Bakchos 2025
