SHIT HITS THE FAN AND THE DEVIL AND HIS DETAILS

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  • Fantasy

    SHIT HITS THE FAN AND THE DEVIL AND HIS DETAILS

    Trouble, that ever searching malcontent  seems to find me.
    His incidious trickery laid in my path comes on a foul wind. 

    His insistance on tormenting me for some past transgresion.
    I having slept endless hours since the offensive act, and having no memory of the dreaded deed.
    His torment will follow me till I amend what he thinks I owe his miscreant ass.

    I would not have had a problem settling my tab if the aged hoved wanderer had not involved Lucifer. What started as a mischiefious hinderance is now a summon's to explain my thinking to the dark one. 

    I do not wish to set these woeful fire dwellers to a battle of wits. 
    I as an intelligent creature of questionable moral fiber will stand up to anyone, anywhere, and anytime.
    I am fully aware of the danger I run towards.

    What the fallen failed to identify in me is the power of the master inside, I so enjoy being underestimated. If a smart man knows the weakness's of his enemies he shall prevail. Satan in his thinking when dealing with humans takes the superior attitude his ego insist's upon, leaving him blind to my approach.

    I learned many years ago the secret of gaining domain over the defiler's he commands. Though I have a chaotic personality I usually tend to favor all that is good, the little that remains on our plane of exsistence that is.

    My life since Trouble took it upon himself to interupt, after learning that I enjoy the game, I will teach them to detest this when I hand them their hats and send them packing.

    I say to you insipid, drama Queens, beware of my wrath, don't let my disdain worry those pitiful minds of yours. I want you to be unaware of the degredation I will afflict upon you both.  

    My only fear is what the Lord I am will allow me to do, contrary to popular thinking Satan has his place and purpose in our world. 



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    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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    lucky62’s Poems (45)

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