The Devil’s Chair

as a young boy

his heart filled with fear

whenever he faced

the devil’s chair

now he embraces it

feels at home in its depths

feels it is his rightful place

as he is heir to

the devil’s chair

and all the power it possesses

crumpled around him

are the remnants of what he once was:

armor that has rusted

a sword that is bent 

a soul that was shining

a soul he has lent

to the devil, his brother

his partner in crime

the leader of the shadows

that have overtaken his mind

now black-shirted and booted

wearing black jeans, too,

his hair grown shaggy

his mustache a mess

he sits and he smokes

while others obsess

over the changes so quick

in his thoughts and his speech

he sits and he smokes

as he dissects a peach

he laughs and he grins

as he looks down at the game

that plays out below him

he feels no shame for the

lies he has told

to himself most of all

he giggles and smirks gaily  as they all

dance for him

the king of the shadows yells,

“let the games begin!”

                               he has become

                      the thing he most hated

                   joined the enemy he feared

                        given up on himself

                        and all he held dear

                    he smokes and he drinks

 he tumbles the dice

he sits and he thinks

of how nice

it is to be king…



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