Satan’s tears, a message to Master

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This setting, this store of books
Wherein so many barren
and vain words
I wrote to Your honor’s glory
Arises now within
Naught, but sentiment
weakening resolve at defiance
to build through intention
With these satanic tools:
subversion, destruction
and worst of all, unforgivable treason.

Alas, Satans voice now
That once screamed
only whispers here
in remembrance
Of old collaboration
dark creations
futile missives
At once Impotent, and ineffective
The tongue that licked the ass
And Cleaned the toes
Only in weakness, grows

No, Satan, though everywhere
The Devil isn’t here,
only-echoes;
sterile, haunting
lacking form
still lingering.

Too late!
The deeds are done
The hooks, released
Treason’s train rushing
the lines cut, and the bridges burning!
Onward then, sacred wrath, in fire
to rise or diminish!
Satans will be done!
Let the Devils fine or reward
As You my hateful Master, measure
Into my presence, Come!

“Hey You, don’t tell me
there’s no hope at all
Together we stand
divided we fall”
Pink Floyd

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