What does a demon most desire?

OTHELLO IN TRANCE

I’m free…
Yet, not free from the shackles of my hell,
And dark clouds have consumed the light of my sun,

Oh, how terribly subdued I am by the motions of my fate?

In this sunless state of mine,
Black weeds grow from my broken Earth,
And I’m blinded by their hold on my mind,
Unable to unravel the vortex weaved between my love and I,
We are a shattered passion, in painful pieces,

What evil substance is this that I have tasted?
Which seeps into the web of my heart,
Caught and entangled within this some disenchanted doom,

Oh, what agony,
Oh, what fury,

I cast away my brave soul and I darken the estate of my thoughts,
Yet, I confront this devil, and charge the heat of his dagger even deeper,
For when he shows me my dark romance, I feel the void of my lady,
And see only the shadows of her twirling not to my tune, but to his,

Oh, such torturous fire inflames me in thought of this,
And burns the virtue that I once valiantly possessed,
So, what am I now?
But lonely ashes traveling with no dwelling,
Breathing and choking on this heavy tragedy,
With no hope in this foresight of death,
Is this the price for such a thing as love?

In every word that I utter the cut becomes deeper,
Piercing the divine temple that is me,
Brown and sensual as a silky sea,

This cut is a state of mind much like this of mine,
Consumed by this devil…evil and conniving,
Like an angel first, but then eaten by demons,

Oh, what evil have I conjured up?

The sway of this devil wants to devour my love,
So, in battle, I fight with the depth of loving sight,
And I see my lady,
Sweet and fair and soft as an Arabian sky,
The one I remember all too well,
Where I once blessed the handkerchief I gave her,

But as the terrible trembles of my tearing mind heeds the torment of these treacherous and tangled tears that trickle and turn into storms that tell the tales of the evil talent that takes the talk of poets, and tantalizes them with tastes of love from a tea of fire that again, teases the soul and tempts the body into an intemperate lust that tends to move without tender grace, tense and terrifying as the texture of this timeless nightmare that transpires in the tortuousness of my troubles…

I think to myself…oh, must it be,
That only this devil beckons me,
For as I follow that handkerchief in my blackened state,
I find it not in good fate,
Blessed be those who with love relate,
And damned be those who are like me, too late,
For with lust, as in love, I hate…

Oh, my mind turns and turns and flies and sores and bleeds and spins and twists and runs and moves at speeds of light and shoots and strikes and darts…

(Sigh)

By heaven I sigh a thousand times,
But hell does lure me still,
For my lady consoles another beast,
If I were to pluck out my eyes, oh, I’d hope not to see her,
But I would still,
Lest I’m able to murder my mind,
And thus, this monstrous fate by love in death,

I see my handkerchief,
Oh, that sublime and loving handkerchief,
The one my mother kissed and so often held to her heart,

Oh, I see it,
Once pure as a cloud white and softly dashing,
Imprinted with strawberries of ripe and faultless shape,

Oh, I see it now,
Black as a dead cloud, stormy and lost,
Imprinted with rotted plums purple and bruised,

My lady,
I see you in death threaded within that handkerchief,
And of my own death beside you I also see,
Oh, what devil plays such trickery?

Written by divaD