Through murky glaucous skies,
A sole winged demon flies.
Its destiny is doom,
For it ever resides in gloom.
Ever is it haunted by its own dreadful form,
Which evokes the image of a fledged worm.

In troubled waters it detects
What the rippling mirror reflects.
But the atrocity of its own image
It can only hope to be a mirage.

For it is oh so wretched,
When in its mind the thought is etched:
I am worthless, I am forlorn:
Never should I have been born.
For how, trapped beneath this skin,
Can I emerge from within?
And how, inside this creature,
Is life possible to endure?
And in spite of my abhorrence,?Will anyone tolerate my presence?
For what can I do to make them understand,
That I am not as my conscience demands?

For hours of desolation,
With nowhere to find consolation,
There the monster sat in spite,
Its wings held high upright.
And as it glowered into its own eyes,
Hued as if with crimson dyes,
In its heart hatred grew,
Soon seizing the being anew.
And as its fury slowly waxed,
Its hand tightly clutched its axe.

Round its short helve its fist was clenched,
In hatred its heart was drenched,
When at once it gave vent to a roar,
And at once its figure soared,
When it brought its axe overhead,
And, wishing only to be dead,
It gave one last hellish scream,
While on his lips grew a devilish beam.

Oh demonic creature, oh hellspawn,
No fate you merit but being drawn.
You deserve no better than fire and brimstone;
For all your fate should hold are the tortures of hell alone.

For a moment it held it aloft,
And then, without any further thought,
The creature smote its own chest,
And blood spurted from its breast.

And after a spell of agony,
Soon he was freed from life’s tyranny
Now its task was done,
Before long its forces were gone.