An artifice of pure gold,
Was caste within a golden mold,
And placed up high upon its place
Where glory shone on its shiny face.
All that saw it praised its sight,
They stared up high at its glorious light.

When one day something twisted yearned,
Building within that golden urn.
It festered and grew from inside the glory,
And molded its own darker story.
Although the outside shone with splendour,
Deeper festered a dark attender.

With pressure building up so strong,
The worshippers heard not the dark song.
Which leaked and played its whispering tune,
Then stood up tall howling at the moon.
And crept out fully from that crack,
Attaching itself to an unsuspecting back,

Which writhed in pain and absorbed the dark,
A new adventure on which to embark.
Happy for a mobile host,
It corrupted no more that golden ghost.