A Future of a Most Inauspicious Kind

For a series of evenings,

I’ve stressed the importance of my future—success, fame, power.

I ponder these for hours,

determining how to build my tower of glory—postulating, calculating.

Shall I praise Moloch? Welcome him into my being?

Invoke him,

Evoke him.

Shall I appeal to his love for children? For souls?

For I am a child and I have a soul—Moloch! Moloch!

I offer you your toll.

Give me my future Moloch: success, fame, power!

Shall I sacrifice my humanity?

Turn against my brother? Take away his heart, his inspiration, 

rob him of his happiness? Shall I 

win his favor by offering a solution that could never be the resolution to his dilemma, just more pain, more regret, more sorrow.

I turn against you my brother,

For I need my future—oh, success! Fame! Power!

I have built for an impregnable legacy,

A future of a most inauspicious kind.

Does it seem odious, my dear? For to me,

success, fame, and power are all that matter,

for I have been tempted by the song of the devil.

February 2012