The Demon

As promised, I've prepared this little poem for my demon. Yes, ANOTHER poem. So I like poetry; it keeps my brain limber. Some people like opera. Whatever.

As I pick up my notes and assemble my thoughts for novel #3, I will try to keep my beloved blog afloat with amusing nonsense and whatever leftovers I can't squeeze into saleable literature. This space is something of a reader's meatloaf. Just add ketchup and we're good.


From the edge of the road, I watched as he passed.
A specter, too dark to be real.
The daylight slipped quickly into something else
and empty was all I could feel
His image burned blackness straight into my heart,
through eyes that reflected like glass.
The folded up wings harbored terror and dreams,
heartache and panic so brash.

The demon is watching. He is out there.
I must hide or he's going to see.
The demon is moving, gets closer.
He is here. He is coming for me.
An angel of darkness consumes me
with a hunger I cannot evade;
a gnawing, tight clawing that eats up
what shelter of peace I have made.

So hide, run away
move faster, do not stay.
Flee, step aside,
hasten, you must fly
for the demon is coming,
is coming,
the demon inside.

The pavement beat hot on my footsteps across;
escape on atonements of wax.
A candle is lit, but Hell's gates opened wide
as I ran and I fell, far and fast.
He was lurking and leaning and hungering for me,
poison-strung words he did spew.
Needles of teeth sought a vein he could steal,
in a place where he killed what was true.

Destruction he brings on each wingtip
spreading wide as they crowd out the sky.
Fight. I must win against blackness
a battle from which I can't hide.
Rage feeds the evil that dooms me,
quietly turning my heart.
Stone is the cold I'm becoming
when the stillness in nothing departs.

So stand, make him pay
he can't win in the day
If you fight and decide
that the demon is a lie.
When the demon is living,
is living,
the demon inside.