Who art thou that treadest in darkness? Thy voice calls out from the abyss’ deep maw. Seekest thou aid—or draggest thou others into thy fall? Who shall extend a hand to thee, Thou whose heart dwells split in light and shadow? Thou who proclaimest brotherly love before the crowd, Yet dost slander in the quiet shelter of comfort. Thou who vowest to guard thy brother from harm, Yet art the first to shatter thy brother’s arm. Thine is the promise of gold— A lure that guideth men unto their graves. Their blood yet clings to stone and wall, And thy garden bloometh with forsaken blades. Thine is the whisper of the serpent, Soft of tongue, sharp of intent; Speaking brotherhood in the open light, Yet sowing deceit where shadows dwell. What drives thee, O walker of shadows? What dwells enshielf in the depths of thy core? Say—dost thou not feel the weight Of chains thou hast forged thyself? For thy ways, men have trod in blindness, Strong in faith, yet hollow in sight.