Nature struggles to survive, leaving her children to fend for themselves; the burning desire to live, to create, to share. Such is the lust for novelty, the eschewing of all that is plain and satisfying for a simple taste of the impossible. So much, we brave mortality to push upon our progeny a physical, mental and spiritual machine.
We wonder at the castles we build, the flourishes, the materials, the sheer will to conceive and create; we stare in reverence and awe. Our children eye them with contempt. Our grandchildren crush them beneath dispassionate groans. No wonder we cannot bear fruit. No wonder we have fallen.
A cult of doomed pleasure, the unattainable Mephisto - Faust crying into the night upon experiencing his final revelation: a steaming pile of entrails to signify all humans must face the sun upon its outward expanse, immolating all.
As Venus ascends, the light bearer, the Morning Star, we fall into temptation, guided by our fears and hopes. But as Venus descends, so too fall our fruits to rot and decay.