Tea With A Demon

Sitting in the coffee shop reading Voltaraine De Cleyre ?I am?
The scent of Columbian beans brewing in pure water
Mahogany small desks, dusty books a glass case filled with pastry
Dimmed lights and educated chatter
Echoing from the aged walls that have covered many a PhD

Spoons gracing cups with soft stirs and clanking sounds
Lovers exchanging hushed conversation in the shadowed corners
Old men enjoying chess on warn wooden boards


Out of the shadows comes a strange man unnoticed by others
Tall, bland, rather unremarkable wearing a rain coat
Funny how you remember the little things
The scents, the shimmer of sunlight, and the way a girl smiles at you


I introduce myself as Enlil de palizon of course
You see when you have coffee with a demon never use your real name
It?s the first rule of black magick and the rules are very important
He called himself Enzu but I am sure he has many names
He preferred a honey lemon tea with a bit of orange peel


We exchange contrite conversation for some time
All leading in circles as this is the second rule of black magick
Never ever lead a demon in straight talk
He is much older and wiser then you
Using truth and lies he will draw you away from the arrangement
Into something far worse and of course to his benefit


As I sip this delicate blend of rich dark coffee we get down to it
Immortality through writing in exchange for ?.
Well that is not important but nothing as bland as my soul
He slips the price to me in a note written on the finest cotton parchment
Which I calmly pocket with indifference


He slowly rises bidding me a good day and a crooked smile
Taking care of the perfunctory displays of civil conversation he departs
Leaving his tea and me to relax in a pool of stagnant air


There you have my story my dear
Well the beginning anyway
If you desire more you must meet me here
Every Wednesday around 3 in the afternoon for the next 3 weeks


Rising from the old chair I wish her a good day
The young girl folds her Journal smiling beneath rimmed glasses
Her craft writing of course and her desire fame
To see her words read by others?by everyone touching many hearts


Sitting back she watches the steam rise from the cup of tea
A orange peel drowning in the honey lemon mixture
Funny how everything new feels so pure
Until you read the note in your pocket


Crow©2005

Bloody Tears

Bloody tears drip down Mary’s porcelain face
The ancient rosary clutched in worn hands
Kneeling in the shadow of a thousand votives
As screams echo from the darkness
Save us from the fire
Forgive us
Firmum ut Eius regnum meum est una cum Deo ite

On a bed of white sheets filled with lust she lays
Moaning in the hands of a dirty lover
As the wedding guests dressed in black watch
Sipping the manna of perversion in orgiastic fashion
Chanting for the coming
Of he who walks behind the rose

Black candles drip along the dresser
Orange flames splitting the realities
Finding the inner world where in they reside
Pulling them before the altar of insanity
Sipping from their bloody kisses
Satan’s darling children sigh

The battle reins upon the faith of these
Good and evil on their knees
Resurrecting life and death
Entwines in vines of roses red
The thorns digging deep upon each head

He pulls the trigger feeling the gun slip away
The dark ones ripping at his spiritual flesh
Dragging him into the bowels of damnation
Before a dark chair he screams
Look into the mirror
See the angel and the demon in me

Crow©2006

A Perfect Picture

Pale blue mixing with aqua emotions
Foaming waves rolling into charcoal craggy rocks
Slivers of golden light cascading on the morning surf
A prism of a thousand thoughts
Swept onto shadowed beaches

Gulls circle weathered boats
Drifting into early mornings fog
Searching the vast ocean of reality for their treasure
If only for the moment

On a piece of bleached drift wood a spider spins a thread
One single silken dream that catches the salted winds
Rising delicately it drifts along the sandy dunes
Where ever it comes to land it will build its life

I take my brush from the canvas
Unable to capture even an ounce of the beauty I see
I turn to share that which is before me
But only the cool wind caresses my face

The beach is empty except for the show of nature
The flowing changing textures, shadows, colors
Each one rolling into the other
Like the waves before me

Will this beautiful memory live on after death?
Or will it fade away forever into the coming night?
A perfect picture lost to my mortality
Lost to the solitude of my thoughts


Crow©2005

Sometimes the light can only be seen through the darkness