INTRODUCTION:
This poem does not make logical sense at first, however it is meant to be interpreted in different ways by different people. If you feel utterly baffled whilst reading this poem, feel no shame, as even I myself am still baffled at what I wrote. It took me weeks to understand what my intention was when writing this. I didn't just decide to write this one day, this (along with I am sol) is a poem I wrote after having a mental breakdown, one that came after an anxiety attack. Again I was a bit inhibited at the the of writing this, so please forgive the abhorrent incoherentness.
The Poem:
One or two? No not for you, who is the one that comes at midnight!?
Satan! Let us dance!
They had a party it was just two. Dance they did with each other, all the lights were gone!
He awoke and was not conscious before, so he knew it was wrong.
Not real but some sort of mind warp!
Hello dark one are you there? No one answered his demonic prayer!
Realizing he's alone he has only himself,
Watch for midnight, for he comes at midnight,
But midnight comes and no one does, he must believe the truth!
XVII years are the last. Help the man, not his past!
Demons attacking the church with violence. Preachers lay dead, in A deadly silence.
Come come look what he has done!
He lies there, straight face, with a gun.
Long dark coat, as he fought in the trench.
It's happened all over again!
He doesn't wish to fights for blood, but rather bad ideas of flood.
He combats the demons that manifest in the psyche,
hoping all even his will be dead.
Rising rising, they rise from the dead,
spells and Incantations being thrown at his head.
He sits there dying, wondering why! Get the gladiators to motivate the shy.
He wasn't a gladiator, he was one sent. Sent from a land where things were odd.
People there were frightening, and everyone one was perfect. He didn't fit in no he didn't.
Is it 12 yet? I believe it is,
here he has come to let himself in. But the one who opens the door is the real adversary,
strike him down before he gets you! Get you he does, like night before.
He hasn't manifested physically, but he is the manifestation of physical things!
What am I!? I am your God! I am what you dwell on! Your thoughts!
Scary it is! Don't let him in!
Some Devils are good, some gods are bad.
Some angels weep, some demons are sad.
YOU ARE READING
The Assorted Poems
PoetryLucien LeSchants gives another glimpse into the real world, one that is without filter, in his second micro collection: "The Assorted Poems"
