The Devil Walks

The devil walks gets tired and sits, and while the devil sits the devil picks up a tired fruit rotting, and with jagged nails he peals slowly, the tender fruit bruising and he tastes it, smacking his dried lips and the devil eats decayed fruit and sour wine nothing lush and sating then the devil rests and resumes his walk, and later the devil sits again rubs his feat and goes to bed and in the morning he breaks his fast on curses and lies nothing so filling as figs and nuts and begin the devil’s walk again, his walk on the road our thoughts paved where all that grows is bad and unwell to the cross our words built where flames dance and all is unwell and he is condemned upon christening upon the hearing of his name and the wobbling of his first steps to walk a road less traveled, to be the leader of our very own crusade armed with words against himself to see him burn, our crusade of one and many on roads first paved upon his birth to bring the devil down. The devil walks The devil eats and pelted by our stones He does but sleep For what we sow The devil reaps and there is justice in punishment there is reward in reckoning there is bitterness in my mouth as I say these words and pity the devil his due.