the magus knows all
secret sorcery
stirred in the boneyard
by light of ill moons
poison potions for sale
to panjandrums
in want of some wisdom
congenital addlepates
desperate for any advantage
to compensate moiety
minds of half measure
in need of black magic
some potent elixir
to grow common sense
where a wayward
tomfoolery flourishes
nothing too difficult
quick easy answers
the coin of the realm
spare the prayers
theirs is not holy work
no souls in danger
when they do not believe
in the soul to begin with
the prize demands
pay any price
and they will
fingers crossed that
the devil’s own agent
this once and this only
won’t sell them a lie
but if worse comes to worst
what’s a few dozen more
of our children who die
great poem, I think with the changing times, the demons are beginning to realize the fate that awaits them, blessings
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thanks kindly
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Great writing
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much appreciated
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The last line brought me up short. There is power in your words that leaves me wondering. Gorgeous picture.
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I cannot understand the lack of measures to protect our children
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Yes. I get it now when I see your poem through this lens. Thanks, Paul.
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it was probably too abstract, but I’m glad it became clearer
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