|
THE
DEVIL’S
RIDE
In
chapped armour, low in esteem, the Devil rode
out
of the silent forest of musty flame, to determine
what
had caused Hell’s plague, why it was shunned.
The
erstwhile phenomenal angels, his SS-élite, were
shadows
of what they had been, tottering in tatters
like
the dried-up wings of flies. Why
no new inmates,
no
trucks of the sinful, daily quotas downloaded at
the
Gates of Hope Abandoned? Why
was the population
reduced
to creepy old cons lolling on listless coals
and
farting trusties sifting unfed ovens?
...
(For full text see
the Kindle ebook The
Nature of Things (Collected Poems) by Alan Marshfield)
top
of page |
