Posts Tagged ‘Devils’

I once spent an evening with an angel,
And heavenly she was,
Aside from some goetic tattoos here and about,
But something transpired,
A force took hold of her,

The conversation turned increasingly esoteric,
Her words became sulphuric heat,
Forked tongues in each breath,
Onyx veils covered her eyes,
Stifling any humanity,

Her face became a mask,
Contorted and almost pliable,
An unknown presence lay behind it,
A baneful weight,
A malevolence,

The air felt heavy in her presence,
Like breathing in spiteful ash,
I asked her what she was,
She grinned,
And those were no longer human fangs.

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.

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 slew this demon,
By my own rageful hand,
Within the swamp of a stuporous night,
To study its vile anatomy,
Work out why devils play the way they do,

This scalpel shall cut hotter,
Than any inferno of hell,
Such is my conviction,
I feel the arcana swirl about this cadaver,
This is the one,

As I make my initial incision,
A cloying ooze of sins drips out,
Infantile shrieks as it hits the floor,
Why continue to bear such filth?
I bottle it up for further inquisition,

Prepare the rib-spreader,
Let’s see this things core,
Stinking heat emanates like breath,
Yet only a void hides behind ribs,
These beings have no heart,

Saw the skull past the jagged horns,
Expose the mind of evil,
How does devilry conduct its plans?
The neurons pass only sick ideas betwixt,
It holds naught but the stench of malice,

So what have we learned?
Devils will always be devils,
Evil will always be evil,
It is intrinsic to their souls being,
It is proven,
If you witness malevolence within a man,
Just remember it is root and stem.

As I stare blankly at the page,
Me and my mind make a pact,
A pact with this book of nightmares,
This monster I put my pen to,
A sanctum for every horror that crosses my minds eye,
Or perhaps an asylum?

This is my unholy gift to you,
A window into my mind,
Full of horrors and abominations as it is,
I must continue to write regardless,
I must keep creating these literary monsters,
The book demands it.

I begin to write,
And the nightmares come out to play,
Letters and words creep from recesses,
Punctuation slivers hither-and-thither,
Sentences of madness begin to form,
I’ve released a monster.

Or am I creating it?

BON

Take care if you ever gaze into a static screen,
It could mesmerize you,
Perhaps try to take you over,
Is it for evil?
Or perhaps for your own good?

What do you see in the static?

Do you see ghosts?
Perhaps you see angels and devils?
Do you see the end of the world?
Do you see the future?
Do you perchance see yourself gazing back?

What do you hear in the static?

Evil whispers?
Cries for help?
The flames of hell?
The lies of phantoms?
The whistling of trees?

What do you see in the static?

Good or evil,
Remember that it could take you over,
It is a foolhardy soul,
That stares into the eyes of the static.

Static

Angels are no better than us,
And Devils no worse.
With our sermons and invocations we manufactured them.
We brought them into being.

We are both order and chaos incarnate.
We are Yin and Yang.
Light and Dark.
Hell and Heaven.
Good and Evil.
We made them.

We are them.

AvDcross