D (16.03.89 / Doncaster, England)

The Devil And The Mirror

As he sat, he bent his neck down toward
A drenchèd floor and gazed with love abhorred
Into himself, framed with black murk, he stared.
The pool stared back, fiendish. There stooped, ensared
Was he, gazing deep. No ripple moved still
Waters while he watched, no echoes did trill
About his lair then, no breath hung forlorn
Beside either of them. Yet o the scorn.
Faded shrieks still called out behind sad eyes.
What torture indescribable, arise
And read carefully, for the language which
I need has ne’er yet been uttered. A rich,
Yet vulgar molestation ran thick ‘hind
Rampant memories. Then the all-maligned
Things dashed about the sky when he screamed mourn-
Filled and venomous. Into the night scorn
Sped in her lover’s arms. Wrath whipped her through
The air, weaving ‘tween forgotten stars, true
And merciless when he lashed her down at
The floor, breaking her apart. He still sat,
And the faded shrieks still called out behind sad eyes.

Suddenly a flame blazed infernous-like
And he beat his ravaged wings. The harsh strike
Tore the air apart, and as he looked down
At his wicked self, the waters boiled. Frown-
Bearing and pulsing he thrashed about, mad-
Consumed and frantic, and in his rough-clad
Lunacy he beat his wings once more, hard
And brisk. Then he rushed into the sky, scarred
And dreadful, to hide behind a laughing white moon.


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