Beginnings - The Devil

The Devil leaned back, put his feet up on his desk and laughed a hearty deep-throated laugh that echoed through the streets of Hell, which rumbled like thunder across barren sand, which shook the walls and rattled the souls of the minions of slaves under his control.


The devil lifted his eyes to heaven and swore in victory. He raised his voice in triumph, cursing and profaning his maker, touting superiority. His eyes burned with hatred, black soulless eyes stared upward, smoldering with pride and arrogance.

He gazed into the mirrors lining the walls of his office and admired his beauty. He was an exquisitely beautiful man, well dressed, well spoken and physically imposing. He could dominate or charm the hearts and souls of those he turned. He used every ounce of his beauty for the work and he was very good at the work.

He could twist and turn the soul of man like a rag to be discarded or make them jump and dance like a marionette on a stage. He had perfected the craft, he knew the souls of man and he knew their desires. He could navigate the dark recesses of their minds, stroking or punishing, tempting or consoling. He blinded them in any way they needed. He was without conscience. He ached for their misery, joyed in their sorrow, reaped ecstasy in their mourning and regret. He dabbled in hopelessness and pride. He was the Devil.

The worlds were turning. He could feel the anger, the sadness and the loneliness increase. He could see the tide of humanity swelling in concert with his will. He had trained his minions well and they worked tirelessly for him. The souls of his father would be under his control in the end, just as he had threatened and boasted when last he spoke with him. There was no doubt. But his father, this was not a thought that he dwelt upon. It made him uncomfortable.

Thoughts of his father made him angry and confused. These were the only times that he felt uncertain, as if not in control. His father, whom he hated, haunted his dreams. Even in their last meeting, when the devil was cast from his father’s presence, as he was spewing forth venom of hatred and loathing; he remembered his father’s eyes.

Those eyes, which had looked upon him since he was young, and whose eyes that he had wanted to please, and from whom he had yearned for approval. They did not look upon him, at last, in anger or disgust. His father’s eyes had been filled with love and sadness as he had banished his son. Tears had filled those eyes as the son turned to leave. The Devil would never be able to cause those eyes to show forth the same hatred that he, himself, felt inside. His father would always love his son.

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Quip's Corner - She told me

She told me once of dreams far off
Of pictures in mind’s distant gaze

She told me once of love and loss
Reduced to faded memories haze

She told me once of passion’s bloom
Left to wither under time’s trodden weight

She told me once of life consumed
The bitter residue of love and hate

She is silent now, her voice is gone
No one visits my mind’s empty room

She has left me now, the hours are long
It is lonely here in my personal tomb

The light is fading fast, the day is failing
And with it now, my sanity trailing

She told me once of dreams far off
I think now that she was going soft

Poof

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Quip's Corner - What Might Have Been

It doesn’t matter what they would say
Together we should have found a way
We let their words tear us apart
It was over before it could start

Then you, with him and me, with her
Certain now of no return
Laid aside, true love’s first bloom
Letting anger and strife consume

What did I ever think would be
Believing love between you and me
Years departed without your glance
Emptiness lacking first love’s enhance

Your picture found in discarded drawer
A familiar smile of promises sure
Thoughts in wonder of how you’ve been
Did memory of us find you again

Your face, now older, beauty undenied
Talk and laughter of time gone by
Our desire burns with love reborn
Deep regrets of lost moments torn

We plan for future, reshape the past
Assured that this time we’d last
But life, in irony, intervened
Collapse, an illness unforeseen

I watch as slowly, you drift away
Holding hands, a promise to stay
Yearning for our love again
I cry out for what might have been

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Beginnings - Night Wind

The wind, erupting from the putrid smelling pit, whipped across the creature’s forehead. He burped up boiled eggs and then pushed through the final cramps, feeling the baby lizard’s head crown from the folds of skin under his armpit. The Alabaster Queen will be so proud of the pending births. She would tell him as much, touting his name to the minions, before eating him at the sacrificial feast.
Pea green blood oozed from his three nostrils into the hair around the tiny oval mouth, filled with blunt yellowed teeth. He was close to completion and his body was giving the signals, telling him as much. The blood, the cramping, the high pitched whine shrieking through his mind indicated that the first of the brood was about to be delivered. He returned to his room to meditate and prepare.

The chanting could be felt as well as heard. Low drudgery, the crunch of bone colliding with bone, guttural groans, wrenching and twisting the very fabric of hell, filled the thick, stagnant, smoke saturated air. Screams of the chosen few cut through the creature’s concentration.

He needed focus. He retreated more deeply into the trance-like state, slumped heavily into the hollow, carved in the rock of the walls. He was hungry; the fever had sapped the creature’s strength. He needed something to satisfy the burning. He needed meat. He could smell charred meat from the various fires, burning throughout the valley. He opened one eye and glanced about furtively.

The twin suns were setting through the haze, hovering over the crimson red colored water. From where he sat, the creature watched the sickly yellow light fight through the smoke, in its final luminescence of the season. There would be no return of the suns in his lifetime. The world would be dark once more, just as had been prophesied by the ancients. The howls of the ceremonial priestesses grew stronger and more anxious in the growing gloom.

He was prepared. He rose, turned toward the wall and, leaning forward to place his head and hands on the floor; he lifted his feet, paused to balance and then continued upward, until his back and legs rested, upside down, against the rough rock. His body convulsed. It was prepared.

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My first attempt

My first attempt at lyrics for Clarke.  The working title is "The Wandering Man"

Stepped off the bus into this no name town
Dropped my bags in the dust as I looked around
No friendly faces looking back at me
What kinda fresh start is this gonna be?

Guitar on one knee, I start to play
No one in mind, I just sing to the day
Sun is shining and the birds are out
I get to the chorus and begin to shout.

Heaven help the wandering man
No one to care or to love
Heaven protect the wandering man
I need some aid from above.

Liftin’ my spirits up, the music flows
Hummin’ loud to the hoppers and toads
People notice and gather ‘round
They catch the rythmn, they like the sound.

Soon they are swaying in their seats
Sitting down around my feet
I giv’em my best one tooth grin
Encouragin’ all to stop and join in

Heaven help the wandering man
No one to care or to love
Heaven protect the wandering man
I need some aid from above.

The lights go out, the sun is down
No one left, is hanging ‘round
Another day, another song
No one stays for very long

Heaven help the wandering man
No one to care or to love
Heaven protect the wandering man
I need some aid from above.

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