The Foil

A weakness wound its wicked way inside where thoughts of “us”, not love, do dwell and swell, and formed a nest of twigs to stay the tide yet cresting waves of righteousness rebelled. “Stray not,” he said " for look on how I writhe." Of fire formed made thane to only He. Yet, man, of mud and clay did breach my pride for Love of Thee, caste out the likes of me. Now, Lucifer’s red flame so bright, burns night, a warning scent to frailer souls, “Don’t fall.” For even stars misstep, disgrace, pride’s plight, let his torment be your clarion call. In light, act right, rise high in good spirit and say “God, the devil made me do it.”