deepundergroundpoetry.com

Owing a Daemon's Due..

 
My every wish, opens empty small fists.. of 'cannot have'  
all I see, unreachable dreams.. there is no curing salve.  
Daemons ply triteness baited  ..up-summing caustic misdeeds.  
Thus they sing sadistically, sharp contretemps in verbal sting:  
"..We scan bones- every scare, draining blood 'til weakened bare..  
we simply cannot cureth.. the transparent Is-Not-There!"  
 
As they ceaselessly slice away, mocked progress commences.  
I ride high pain, no gripping mane ..jumping iron fences.  
Lulled pacifiers signify dulled tokens at endgame-  
riddle still damned, I am.. tailed-fiends don't bother with my name..  
"..At this stage, Mrs. thirty-something.. count life as your blessing,"  
Truth not daemons touching 'pon.. "sorry for your suffering."  
(Needlessly, evil stated after 'just' three failed attempts.)  
By this point, my soul knows.. there will never be another fence.  
 
Advice? ..from learn-ed me, to each health-craving heartbeat made-  
'Nay-say' daemons bespoken ..If it be 'just a bit broken'..  
Their healing- further offered, may create high cost foul-play,  
as when true time promise came, my strict Dues starkly lain.  
Once said yes, none can attest the cure's sweetly ripened fruit,  
a surgeon's curse might be much worse- if bones fall destitute.  
Of 'course.. They probably owe a daemon favor ..or two.  
 
Written by darksighs
Published | Edited 5th Aug 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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