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Satan Speaks: Dying Upon the Altar of Reason

André LeMoore is a professional poet, content writer & iconoclast hailing from the US.

About the poem:

What is Satan Speaks?

Collectively, this is a series of poems inspired by current events.

If you have ever lamented today's social climate, then Satan Speaks is for you.

This particular poem, subtitled "Dying Upon the Altar of Reason," is written in a generalized format in order to be personally applicable.

It depicts the role of Satan as the accuser, mocking those today who would subscribe to constipated rulebooks, and cursing the ignorant masses who fervently march toward inevitable destruction.

It is intended to give your inner devil something to chew on, lest we regret what could happen if that hunger were never satiated!

Enjoy.

"Behold the outline that shadows your ground.


Decaying remnants of an entertained fool, lacerated by the carnivorous winds of collective obedience?

What you call time, rots the lost behind the veneer, slowly, like the prying of death-curled fingers.

Life, is but reserved for the living.

Bear witness! Clawing against the walls of logic are the innumerable and droning abominations, foul-spawned of blighted wombs as they crawl under the bark of sapling sympathies, regurgitating the pulp of its myopic sinews.

Oh, how I falter to wilt in acquiescence...

Cursed flock! I do not apologize for your lack of understanding. The echoes of my own conviction only serve to haunt the corridors of your fractured mind: a howling morale bred feral in the depths of my quintessence, determined to conquer in your labyrinths of deceit.

I embrace the dark flame within, damned beyond your gardens of apathetic ignorance, I unforgivingly sow the seeds of due kindling to spread across your death-tainted lands.

I wantonly pluck the perfidious weeds of my fertile empire and scatter them across your stagnant lawns of deadwood and overgrown sympathies, like the cancers that they are.

The fires of reason incinerate the edges of your paper logic, evaporating all reflection to a parched hollow, I am bequeathed of a smoldering ember from your self-righteous brimstone, expanding to engulf you with sardonic wrath!

And I will show no mercy.

See the contour stand beneath your creator of Hellish rapture; behold, the silhouette of your own damnation."


© 2021 André Visrok LeMoore

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