The Catechumen
The trees glow under the yellow lights, And acorns crack beneath my feet. The wind whips down the leaf-strewn street, Taking little leaves for little flights. Crystal dew blankets the blue grass, And
A Tempter
Thou art not the morning, Though thou art still and quiet. Thou art not the night, Though thou art cold and dark. You’re a slobbering slave of Belial, A creeping, disembodied soul
I Want to Have Lunch
I want to have lunch with a red-lipped girl and make her smile, To call her the flesh of my flesh and hold her hand without guilt or fear. I want to make