Spent Souls Poem by Barry Middleton

reaching to help these lost souls
I know best their forsaken hope
no gain in trading with the devil
crossroads deals gone badly wrong

staring blankly with addicted eyes
barely able to move haggard bodies
half listening, dozing through my prayer
unable or unwilling to gather their mind

Faustian pride did not defeat them
though surely once they did aspire
it is sullen shame, pride's opposite
wherein they seal self destruction

no zeal of Icarus temped flight
few ever pursued mastery at all
sought no dream beyond magical ease
the fall, a crazed back street thirst

few can understand the wasted need
the sick belief that life must offer more
must always offer endless higher highs
till a secret phantasm is cheaply had

ah but is not hubris wanting too grandly
Faustus or Robert Johnson, demanding
just a trifle more than life supplies
Icarus wasted, no wings, no escape