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THE DEVILS 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)

  

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