mark byzewski | CC BY 2.0

Devil’s playground

I feel its want
like never before,
memory’s haunt
— years of yore
— that time
in rhyme
with clime
so prime
— virgin,
as it were:
by sin
unsullied — ere
I chose
to align
with those
malign
forces
that sow
in their courses’
sorrow
with gay
abandon
and fey
glee wanton:
wrack and ruin
— god forsake —
in sanguine wake
left; rite
sans reck
of might
sans feck
that muscle must
flex, wreck
just
for heck
of it;
with vile
deeds of wit
febrile while
time, heartless work
of mind idle —
where imps, berserk,
worship false idol