The Devil Walks
The devil walks
gets tired
and sits,
and while the devil sits
the devil picks up a tired fruit
rotting, and with jagged nails he peals
slowly, the tender fruit bruising
and he tastes it, smacking his dried lips
and the devil eats
decayed fruit and sour wine nothing lush and sating
then the devil rests
and resumes his walk,
and later the devil sits again
rubs his feat
and goes to bed
and in the morning
he breaks his fast on curses and lies nothing so filling as figs and nuts
and begin the devil’s walk again,
his walk
on the road our thoughts paved
where all that grows is bad and unwell
to the cross our words built
where flames dance and all is unwell
and he is condemned
upon christening
upon the hearing of his name
and the wobbling of his first steps
to walk a road less traveled,
to be the leader
of our very own crusade
armed with words
against himself
to see him burn,
our crusade of one
and many
on roads first paved upon his birth
to bring the devil down.
The devil walks
The devil eats
and pelted by our stones
He does but sleep
For what we sow
The devil reaps
and there is justice in punishment
there is reward in reckoning
there is bitterness in my mouth
as I say these words
and pity
the devil
his due.
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