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Drapped across, o'er your scaffold of cynical crucificion,
I reengineered philosophies and religions from dust,
Affixing them to withstand my own crucible image.
And the crux of my ideas?  To eschew form without function--
A misallocation of beauty into spectral distraction.
It was contentment to gag on the tail of military science!

Yet, the sole source of art in your mechanical empire
Overturned my holy edict in one eloquent breath
And shorned off the sacred halo light from my blessed head.
Astounding!  That pure form could be made practical,
Existing for form itself instead of wasted as mere excess.

After moments, I spasmed, rigid, downed, devolving,
Caught in your withering sea of withheld pleasures,
Reduced like sufficient diamonds back to necessary coal,
Trapped by great allotropic unchanges disguising by nature
An underlying unity of substance:  the false transmutation
Interchanging emotion with reason and desire with avoidance.