A Dark Voice Whispers Poem by John Duffy

A drop of darkness to end the night.

On this Easter darkness.

They, the baying hordes who continuously cry, not for salvation or redemption. but instead for a soul-satisfying taste of damnation.

Those tormented and loved so ferociously by my second brother and sister.
Who just love to drag them to me wailing.

Through the dark temptations of skin, through dark acts of the seven deadly sins.

Those who feel like they're blessed to never win. The fallen.
Broken and the bitter.

Those who kneel in the darkness generously praying to be starved of love

Those lucky souls who pray for no mercy or pity to us the heartless ones.

The truly fallen giants from high above.

What they do not know.
What I try to cloud their judgement to deny, as they constantly wail and cry.

That there is still hope everywhere they go, just hidden in every drop of the worlds silence.

For my enemy did not die but on Easter Sunday but then did rise in spirit to walk and influence all if they only welcome him in, on all horizons.

But the fools who I claim now as mine, don't believe he lived beyond the bet of a nickel or a dime.

So I can maybe take my chance and lead them to my deserts of desolation, with a soft kiss, and a trusting hand filled with false hope and confetti.

That encourages and tempts them to take it, to begin our eternal dance.

For my name is on another deviation.

A lower level of mental and visceral comprehension.

If you're into rhyming slang, you might already know my worldwide reputation.

It's simply an inversion of a place the enlightened know as heaven.

The greatest of all of man's nations.

Some know me as the King who loves to corrupt and embezzle, who the righteous know as their adversary.

You probably already know my name, The Rolling Stones may have introduced me.

Pleased to meet you
My name is the.....

Copyright John Duffy