a macabre dance
unknown to him
I watched from the shadows of
rocks far below
he, dancing like a scarecrow atop the
cliff edge, limbs at unnatural
angles, broad grin of
chiseled teeth gleaming in the wan light of
the moon, looking up to spit
blood at its face
making sadistic biting gestures
almost as if he could taste
the pale blue beams ... or nip
them off, thus …
maybe he could, this
Demon of Lies, for the darkest magic
was his faith and forte
most any miracle, his, tho' cursed
(as payment for his powers)
to never take his
own form, wearing instead
the sinews of those who
sold their souls for desire and deceit …
yes, I watched intently as he
spun his grotesque jig
cackling with impiety, for a NEW flesh
hung loose upon his skeleton
and its face ...
was my own.
Copyright © 2019 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art created copyright-free by the poet with GALA AI software )
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