Pretty, Pretty Soul

A dire warning once issued to a potential muse, who needed to know it is not all sunshine and mint juleps in the poet's sphere. She took the hint. Good for her. If you can't keep up, don't sign on for the tour.

Pretty, Pretty Soul

best be wary, faerie,
lest you find the flavour of my magicks
to your liking
striking sparks from stones
you cannot atone for with a string of beads

bleeding silence into darkness into memory
blessing the formless
heating the warm flesh that before
before
had only known a pale shade of red

the magick stirs and purrs and ferments
inside this vessel
until it seeps out creeps out
leaps out
to swallow whole your pretty pretty soul


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.