Posts Tagged ‘Demonology’

There is tell of a fallen angel,
Feathers replaced with horns,
Some epitome of spite,
And of this we are taught to fear,
Lauded as some ultimate enemy,
But I say different,

The devil is an amateur,
Way out of his infernal depth,
Ultimate evil sits in coffee shops and sips lattes,
A creature as studious as it is destructive,
Whose ingenuity has moulded countless systems of abuse,
It chokes the land not in lies but toxic waste,

The devil should just retire,
Last I checked we wore serpent skins,
Extinction is just in a days work,
Even Lucifer ought fear the mailed fist of man,
Both in location and scale of evil,
Humanity is punching down.

That lyre,
Apollos hand-me-down,
An instrument of antiquity,
That sound,
Each tone more shrill than the last,
Thundercracks across string,
I hate it,
I hate those aural pangs,

They scrape across my cranium,
Nails upon chalk,
Leaving invisible scars,
There is nothing divine about this sound,
No virtue from its turtle shell frame,
It is a miserable dirge of angst,
Plucked free by the fingers of demons,
Inflicting naught but malady.

After the sunsets warning,
The dark creeps up,
Nothing is radiant in the world,
Naught but the two lights I see,
Corpselights in the black,
Malevolence in twin lustre,
Eyes flittering a grim emerald,
I lock vision with them,

Just silence,

The hairs upon my nape stand in awe,
I know not to which fiend they belong,
But I feel the heat of their ire,
Such hate in their illumination,
They pounce from brush to brush,
Denoting a predators process,
The night shifts just that bit colder,
I am fixed in their gaze,

Just silence,

Then rapid claws upon broken twigs,
No more sound would be heard,
No more sunsets to be seen.

The dark has a mind of its own,
The periphery does not lie,
There’s something there,
Exerting its will unseen,
It’s like a shadow person,
It has limbs of pure contorted blackness,
It pinches at your ears and thighs,
Supping upon your rapid heart,
Tentacles against table legs and wall skirts,
Those whispers are very real,
It tries to lead you further in to the night,
Tendrils ushering you onwards,
For nefarious ends perhaps,
Or some other mischief.

Walking through these cold streets,
All I see is grey,
Save for the colours of demons,
Hovering behind human shoulders,
Feral spirits whispering into human ears,
Cupped hands beside unknowing brains,
Sweet nothings that feign sweetness,

One suggests taking that crones handbag,
Another sings the praises of broken windows,
Yet another gives you invitations to every speak-easy,
These invisible spectres suggest the worst of vices,
Pushing a dark narrative,
They are over all of our shoulders,
Wearing the shrouds of angels,


Fire given form,
Smoke and ash given intent,
Among the jinn he resides,
Among creatures of the hereafter,
Upon a searing wind of flame,
He comes to Mundus,
With broiling malice in his eyes,
Emanations of foul determination,

He comes to spread misfortune,
His bestial form is scalding in its barbarism,
Horns and scorched auburn fur,
He comes to bring about an encompassing scorched earth,
But there is a defence,
Go to your Imam,
Chant your Du’a,
Chant if you hope to douse the fire,

To defeat him,
To defeat Ifrit.

Do you remember thirteen years thus?
A bargain was made,
A pact you cannot break,
With a loan shark you can’t dupe,
An infernal contract,
Your soul for your hearts desire,
Seemingly an easy trade at the time,

The time has come to collect,
Your final sunset has passed,
The hounds come,
Obsidian pelt and garnet-eyed,
Slavering and tireless,
From the flames they come howling,
To tear from you a promised ember,

The hounds are here,
A flood of ghastly Baskervilles,
Do you hear them scraping at your door?
The scent of brimstone is palpable,
No amount of bargaining can lull them,
They are the devils own mongrels,
And they hunger for the flesh of a soul promised.

Sweating in the southern humidity,
There is a dead soul walking,
Waist deep in stinking brackish water,
Inspirited by the morning bourbon,
Gummy peacemaker in hand,
On the search for the devil himself,
Wanted dead or alive,

Amongst numberless drowned reeds,
Even a dead man can feel agony,
This swamp is a mad undertakers dream,
There are worse critters than mosquitoes,
These waters have teeth,
Scaly cold-blooded demons and wandering corpses,
Both would drag our hunter to a fetid end,

The bounty hunter wades gutsily ahead,
But the devil has other ideas,
The swamp rebels at each step the hunter takes,
Filthy waves advance and a ghostly banjo yelps,
The clamour of a rattlesnake intensifies,
At the behest of Lucifer himself,
The bayou seeks to claim another between its jaws.

The angels lied,
The stars are falling,
A starscape and horizon afire,
A conflagrant deluge of feathers,
My fellow parasites have already fled to the chapels,
Tipsy on bread and wine,

But I stand here a heretic,
My only friend,
A goat with a thousand eyes,
Veiled in sulphurous musk,
He told me to escape to hell,
That salvation rested in cavernous limbo,

The devil would never lie,
So with blistered hands I dig,
A garden of mundane dirt,
No longer a lawn,
Mocked by a charred hanging tree,
Encircled by worm-riddled picket,

As you regard this pagan,
You think me mad,
My countenance screams so,
Mayhap I am,
I smolder endlessly now,
But I escaped your holy apocalypse.

I am dragged from my sleeping nirvana,
To a bedroom suddenly unfamiliar,
An unseen force holds me in place,
Diabolic manacles upon each limb,
The bed becomes a gaol,
The infinite weight of sleep paralysis,
I feel ominous eyes upon me,

Two corpselights in the corner,
Limpid apertures flaunting hells own fires,
Fixated upon me like an eagle spying prey,
There’s a malice behind them,
A demonic spite,
Ice-cold dread burning as the eyes approach,
Twin lasers cutting into my very bones,

As the eyes draw close,
Enough to feel the abominable heat,
Swelter emanating from them as if breathing,
They simply stare in ghoulish hate,
Holding inches away with their malicious effusion,
Feasting upon my soul in its throes of terror,
Until the morning comes with banishing sun.