Satan in Human Flesh
In the wee hours mansions where hushed glooms sneak flesh
Flesh that gossips furtive malice in minds' natural breath
Breath that stimulates crooked cravings inside the disappearing doom
Doom slopes upon the feeling’s ending, perverted plea
Plea shades its crimson mantle around the nocturnal mind.
Mind inspired by secret wrath below a pastel skin
Skin that fleeces a monster whose faintness shams piety sin
Sin that buds in plagiarized hilarity, deriding deadly impasse
Impasse on a land of walking humans in skins yet inner evils.
Poem by N. Mugisho
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