She was blinded by the smoke,
the fog kept on getting thicker,
flames ascended, engulfing her.
The Mother called out to her,
But she knew not nor heard her.
The Devil called her Dear,
she fell for the bait.
Predator as the Devil is, he is hard to resist.
Her Beloved called her back, into the real world.
But little could they do, to shake his powerful influence.
'Round and 'round she went,
making herself more vulnerable.
When one day finally, completely
deaf and blind to her good,
consumed by utter disgust,
by the Devil's trapping enclosure,
she let the flames swallow her.
She let them take control.
For it was the Devil of Pride,
of Arrogance and Over Confidence;
One must be wary of him,
Because he is the deadliest of them all.
YOU ARE READING
A Warrior's Songs
Poetry"I believe that Poetry is the aesthetic act; that poetry is not the poem, for the poem may be nothing more than a series of symbols. Poetry, I believe, is the poetic act that takes place when the poet writes it, when the reader reads it, and it alwa...
