As if a prancing sun fell into a ditch,
A deep dark crevice, reality's glitch.

The sun shriveled, a mere imitation he had become.
Try as he might, the darkness he could not overcome.
Oft doubted if he really was the sun.
If light ever existed, now that a dark age had begun.

With no one else there to blame,
Naught but himself to direct his anger's flame.
Convinced that all his endeavors would be in vain.
For he had done what should never be, he'd caused another, heartfelt pain.
...