The Devil

Call him the son of the devil
To wear the mask of a rebel
A star to rise above the rest
One day to arise as the best

The man of sin and his level
Call him the son of the devil
A fallen angel clips its wings
For a lusting of bitter things

The falling away can't be far
By a sign of the Morningstar
Call him the son of the devil
To dig a grave with a shovel

On everybody's passing bell
Just be ready to burn in hell
As he arrives they'll tremble
Call him the son of the devil
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace