My Demons


Earth one day will spit humans

from her skin, like fleas flicked.

Demon fear evoked can never be

returned to the Djinn's lamp. Death

in fames is a hellish reference;

asphyxiation in the inescapable.


Death lurks shadow cast, inhaling

demon laughter in a firestorm. Imps

like to drown things in old and huge

betrayals and blunders that flood

the world with humans as victims.


Creeping up uninvited, sprites urge 

pain and agony into bloomed hatred.

In a dead flower fantasy, we pick a

particular demon and smell

the purgatory.







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sweetwater's picture

Wow, such a powerful

Wow, such a powerful imagination and what a wonderfully deep poem. I loved the imagery it brought forth. A real ' can get the teeth stuck into it ' poem superb. Sue xx

allets's picture

Merci Sweetwater

Glad you liked the imagery, i struggled with this one. I rewrote it on 06-19-19, to bring it into the most recent renditionof what I call my aesthetic. So many demons, but more angels - like you. :D slc