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Demon Demon, slither.
Crawl from the crumbled edge and consume
Giving pretence to Saint Peter
As you slip through his eagle'd gaze.

Tip your cap, about its face,
Zip your youthful jacket.
Meet a stranger in flashing lights,
Exchange some powder in a packet

Others fade away, replaced by acquainted strangers,
Who grovel for policed release
They violence once received.
Grappling with a jocular reaper
His mission is not Missionary,
His perfume rank with carcass,
Mottled hands blood spattered
A thousand years today, any day.

Writhing unto your sporadic deliberation
Wake from thought to contemplation.
Submit your soul, with writer’s intent,
Illustrate your words.
Those an age passed, turning in wood
This in turn, turns in dirt.
Flowers wilted, visited by autumn leaves.
A passing stranger preoccupied with another.
Are you remembered?

The predisposition. Bear the shame.
The darkness understands, acknowledges, listens.
A shoulder to cry on
This halo interpolates with malevolent soliloquies.
Requesting; ‘do not slit your wrists for a pittance
Nor pay for poison.’ Flash light inside
The nooks and crannies.
Hunt, find the answers.

Demon Demon, slither, until escaped release.
Don’t be blinded by obliging light.
An open eye,
Evil is salvation. For it consumes, protects.
Never a moment pass uncherished.
Follow the trail, and the hidden clues.
Hunt, find the answers.

Jarret Williams
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Wow, what a dark write., captivates the reader. Vivid imagery indeed! ; D
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