Every writer has a patron saint. Mine just happens to be a bored god with a crooked grin and too much time on his hands. He visits when my mind goes idle, leaves when the damage is done, and always returns with another lesson I didn’t ask for. This is one of them.
Through an idle mind,
I am led astray.
I was always told
This is where the devil plays.
And play he does,
as he leads me along;
He hands me a harmonica;
He teaches me a song.
When the melodies stop,
Onto a page,
words hop,
Like years in the Lotus,
The time breezes past.
Line after line;
rhyme after rhyme,
I write eternity,
Before it is time.
I begin to gripe at my debt,
But the end,
Is far from yet.
I play along,
I humor him at will,
The bare minimum agreed in the deal.
The words creep from outside.
I start losing my pride.
I cuss the demons and the devil alike.
Never have they seen such mortal spite.
I banished them beyond Tartarus.
I banished them for all of us.
Eventually no evil remains,
Just the righteous,
And the sane.
They rejoice all around me,
inebriated with glee.
Out of fatigue,
I grow slow,
From pleasing peers,
I don’t know.
Their lives of purpose,
Their lives without pain,
Their ever-convenient umbrella,
when caught in the rain.
Into the mirror I look,
For a soul,
That’s long been took.
I plea to the gods to fix the mistake,
In unison, each of their heads shake.
Cursed and bridled,
My mind again,
Turns idle.
A stranger returns,
in a familiar way.
Just offering a trade,
In exchange for a day.
I curse him for before,
He scoffs at the lore.
Shoulders he shrugs,
With sarcasm,
He offers a hug.
I take out my harp.
Cue the b sharp.
The melodies hum.
But again,
I am far from done.
Into my mind a voice calmly comes.
Only a mad man,
Would follow such breadcrumbs.
My soul is returned,
No strings attached.
And the bitterness I had,
He genuinely patched.
The playground he says,
Is not for his fun.
It’s to enjoy my company,
when my time here is done.
He used trauma,
To mold me at will.
A professional,
So I seem.
But an artist,
That is the deal.
Someone to brighten,
The vibe of the halls,
Inside the infamous Hell,
On which he’s eternally called.
His prison it seems,
No different than mine,
Fortified to house us all,
Until the end of time.
The stranger leaves,
Offering a hint of fact.
It’s all just an illusion.
That silly contract.
A god of deceit,
Mischief, and lust.
And no one to trust,
Poetically just.
Speaking now,
What my mind perceives,
Maybe the wrong tale,
I’ve been led to believe.
The deal I made,
came not with malice,
Nor does it offer,
An endless chalice.
It was simply a god,
With nothing to do.
An agenda revealed,
To an unlucky few.
He created the dread,
Felt day after day.
Simply making me worthy,
Of hearing me play.
Hearing my words shape the torture of souls,
Igniting comic lusts,
I guess that’s his goal.
The deal that is made,
Isn’t fame or the top,
Simply a muse,
That will never stop.
Intrigued by the notion,
The devil is clever,
He offers a muse,
That will last forever.
He informs me,
There will be a day.
I’ll conjure an odd rhyme,
Many people hate.
In the rhyme,
The purpose will reveal,
Only to me,
My soul is again healed.
For never once,
Will I be his slave.
Still,
I’ll be at my best,
Next time,
On this playground we play.