Depths
Wrangle up a monster
From the down below
Summon up a beast
That one can keep and know
A tiny, personal demon
One to call your own
In the furnace flames,
An angel image shewn
Burn the picture well
Into your flesh and mind
Hook it into every pore,
Be sure to be unkind
For the creatures that do dwell here,
In these dark and lonely parts
Sing songs of woe and cowardice
Emanating from empty hearts
Little, naughty things
That upon the pain will feast
Siphoned off a tank of dreams
Of which you know the least
I can retell an ancient tale,
Bound by honor, I will never
To have a shallow type of glory
A broken attempt at being clever
My own private monster
Would certainly not be pleased
It takes the choice and refuses to
Be taunted, mocked or teased
All the lovely portions and parts
Hungers it has now sated
Replaced in time by stupid rhyme
And nonsense, well-debated
This is the thing that demons do
And it’s what fascinates us so
All the places and all the things
They can make us do and go
© 2019 Magus, Kevin Trent Boswell
The Nascent Magician magick course
Kevin Trent Boswell 