The Devil Always Comes
Confirmed again is the Cherophobe
let down by another decision divine;
found a glimmer of lasting peace
to outshine the defensive pessimist.
Problem is an open heart is as firelight
in a forest full of bandits,
the moon suspended like a bloody hangnail–
what’s the use of praying anymore?
The Devil always comes.
Any one strife can be coped with, dealt with,
life’s good, I’m proud of who I am
until a rogue convergence of travesty
threatens to capsize the ship.
I’m starting to hear that wilderness voice;
one of Shakespeare’s witches
crying warnings of something wicked.
It’s only a matter of time.
The Devil always comes.
The man who doesn’t care if you hate him
will not take care that you don’t
and when he sees light he won’t admit he lacks
his mission becomes to destroy.
If no one stands ready to defend,
emotional erosion will take hold.
It shouldn’t ever get very far
but I guess I’ve always needed a villain and
the Devil always comes.
Then hope unleashes it’s own vicious terror
within the overwhelming desire to belong.
Barbed beauty constricts the heart
while begging an impossible question.
If two people are meant to be soulmates, what happens
if one of them isn’t listening?
Not that I can ever broach that topic,
I seem to belong to only one.
The Devil always comes.
Sorrow and Malice run amok in a space
where the spirit is always drained.
Hard to get a step ahead
when the knees are constantly weak.
You want to cry out, but God
has never been a vending machine,
can’t force Him to deliver on His promises–
I have faith in one thing.
The Devil always comes.
Enveloped by it all
on myself I must rely
where some light hasn’t died.
Why the turmoil? Evil doesn’t need
to fight for what’s already lost.
What are we trying to hold back?
This energy, invincible clarity, my potential;
there must be a damn good reason
that the Devil always comes.
8 thoughts on "The Devil Always Comes"
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the moon suspended like a bloody hangnail — until a rogue convergence of travesty — Barbed beauty constricts the heart
What a poem! It expresses so well what comes to us at times, whether or not we are God/Devil-ridden. Good job.
(You might want to correct typo: broach, not brooch.)
Greatly appreciate your comments, as well as pointing out the typo. There’s always one or two that sneak through when typing on my phone!
Very striking poem in various ways, not least its form, which feels rather 19th century. Who are you reading, I wonder. Anyhow I like the darkness of it, especially that second stanza, in which things crystallize with a beautiful harshness.
I tend to oscillate between reading prose and poetry, and lately I’ve been deep in a couple of novels. This poem went through a lot of shapes and forms before it started to revealing what it needed to be.
Always appreciate your support, especially on these darker-tinged poems I put on here. It’s a delight when I see your name pop up in the comments.
Agree the 19th century format is perfect.
Hope unleashes its own terror. Now that’s a line!
Thank you!
sorrow and malice vs. spirit… in drainable places!
you’re on to something here.
Yes, I’m trying to play with the concepts of sorrow and malice this year. I have lots of ideas, but I’m still only scratching the surface.