The devil cannot buy
your soul.
It’s only you can sell it.

And if you do,
don’t then dare lie–
at least,
don’t lie to you—

your story’s writ
it’s best you own it,
don’t condone it–

scrape any honor you have left
and suffer all shame that is your due,
and whatever other gouging costs,
should you chance
to live
to tell it.

But, better,

Should the devil
pay you a bidding call,
think well on
what you would be losing
with each shred
of your wherewithal. . .

And stall
to stretch
and take deep breaths. . .

for then,
his stench
will creep every tendril
in your nostrils,
where you can’t help
but fully smell it,

Which calls forth strength
you never knew you had,
so, rather than embrace his bad,
you take your very firmest stand,
rise up
to repel it.

This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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