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Vestigial Superstition

I didn't believe in the devil, but you never know who you'll meet on the internet.

By N.ZbornakPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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The Devil is a gardener

He'll plow your field and

Lay it thick with sweet loam.

He'll fertilize your thoughts

With dreams of a flower jungle.

When you are close to ripeness

Your blossom just beginning to unfurl

He will grab you by your weak stalk

And twist your roots clear out of the ground.

He always knows when you are most desperate.

He always knows when you are feeling strong.

When you are on the precipice

Of self awareness

Doubt looming unrecognizable yet familliar

With great certainty, prepared to jump

He will appear.

The Devil wears a suit- He is a salesman

He does not look like

He would ever kneel in the dirt

Soil his hands

But your blood is there plain as day.

He dusts himself off and

Begins anew.

A new plot

A new field waiting.

He knows your body is there

In the ground he sowed.

He will return to reap

And feed

With his dazzling wings.

You wait underground

Fallow

Grateful for a glimpse

Of the artificial light he brings.

surreal poetry
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