Demiurge

Nothing happens in the place of forever, just The vagaries of the universe with no orderly manners. Let me pause - and I will exist no longer, as much as Insanity does without the tools of torment and pain. At the feet of a Demiurge and his phalanx one is being judged, Broken and subdued is the flesh of a sanctified being, Defrauded by lies and long forgotten promises. Dying is so possible to be performed on the judgement day. The customary weeping would be belated at the funeral, Where an old undertaker and his staff complete the job, Before anyone else decides to wonder around or turn up. The wizard of sadism acts as a cardinal of putrid sarcasm With a false narrative, or a fake step to rigadoon his way Into the lives of soft characters, with no aura. The platforms of loveliness have been covered in veils and vapour In the amphitheatre, where astray apparitions have lost control. The gauze is full of blood, the wound infected and the future – grim, As I ducked, and I dipt, and I flung this journey full of moral quicksand, I wasn’t allowed to sunset into the peace of conscience - until It’s lay to rest by the tender soul and waving hands of a miracle, According to some, that happens only in the afterlife, or never. The Demiurge is cocked, but I’m ready and at peace.