The Pact

When a man makes a pact with the Devil, his end days are fearful and maddening.
So you stand there pretending that you don't know who I am,
And all the while, remembering my name,
Inside your friendly circle, you maintain that all is calm,
And call security to throw me out again.

But you're the only one who sees me, all the others are confused,
They think maybe, that you've finally gone insane,
And the fear upon their faces says, that calm has been abused,
As you rant, and rave, and flail your spite at them.

I am the shadow of depravity, the tumor on your soul,
The guilt that drives its dagger through your heart,
I am the ice that frosts your spirit, that shiver, uncontrolled,
That threat to shake your puny world apart.

I am the master of your destiny, the dealer of your cards,
Here to collect the stake, you cannot thwart,
I'm the pact you made so long ago, which you could ill afford,
And I am here to claim my just reward.
Published: 6/15/2013
Bouquets and Brickbats