His Own Champion

Surrounded by splendor
what magic there must lie
all wonders of the world
all stars and universe beyond -
a shroud stands still.

Like the great black hole
not engulfing all matter
but destroyer of dreams
projecting thought into rot, turned in on himself
full of disease for which there is none
the master, creator, of self-demise.

At the doors of oblivion
facing eater of souls
the greatest monster
his own reflection.
But now splendor is gone
he cannot see
tearing apart, his own flesh and bone
compelled to suffer, and die alone.