Destruction of the Devil
He fell, yet held to denial
She'd gone several seasons to send him to hell
Cold iron rod was insufficient to smash him
She saw and stretched for the sledge
His face of caramel caved, dwindled he like a drunk
Rage of storm flung him fast amidst junk.
Astronomical lift cushioned her
Keen students returned respect, while she waged war
For the culprit, that aged false balm intent to win -
One would glean, Neil deGrasse Tyson discerned her dreams
He knew folk art, martial art, art of other sort
His gift lingered long like caution to one
For he stood as master of space she graced
She who observed in awe his wit, felt aroused.
Then and there, she feared no more the devil's lure
Weapons herculean lay wait
She pounced and pound, his faint voice drowned.
She lunged, sledgehammered away his head
Specialists would haul and burn remains,
joy and pain, touch of rain, prelude to spring renewal.
Copyright © Iris E. S-Lewis | Year Posted 2024