I hear laughter,
Sinister cackling
Echoing, blowing queerly
Over this thin ridgeline
In brewing storm
The Seven Devils
Are made known
Amidst their ritual thrall
They've scattered the
Flowers
They're shaking the doors
And creaking the floors
Searching for an
Entrance
Twilight's Luciferean lilt
Beckons with growing voice
I can't get their
Multitudinous
Horns, eyes, teeth, grins
Out of my reeling head
Clutched between feeble
Knees
I thought myself against
Christian convention,
Absent of faith
And doubtful of the safety in
Flocks
Until this accursed place
Took my peace
Casting it to Satan's
Icy hove in the ninth circle
Leaving only twisted madness
And a void so dark
As to drive me back
Towards the
Light
At least while this
Storm still blows
And Devils still dance
At my door
