A Demon's Dwelling Darkness fell as night set in The stars did twinkle across the sky As I— myself was set to begin The art of magus or—magi Possessed by a feeling, a thought One that was miserably found to linger Clutching the words I had sought As I lifted up a bloody—finger And with that finger I began to write Words that were but merely placed TO THE DEMONS THAT RECITE THE NAMES WHICH THEY EMBRACED Engraved upon a wooden chest A box that’s locked away The demons are said to have blessed The EVIL words one can’t unsay For as the sun follows a path—the same Moving from one side unto the other Returning not to where it came Completing its cycle which grew darker That black sun that rules underneath When the light that’s hidden away Is said to leave behind and bequeath The sorrows found of yesterday— The box that’s sealed with one word One that’s known by they who reside Are then contained as their captured And behind these words—where they hide A demon's dwelling is all but hidden To they who are said to know— Open and blatantly blazon Revealed by ones own sorrow
Ode to Baal Ruler of demons and powers that are Faithful you are found to be Ruler and keeper of both peace and war Yet— also a giver of life and prophecy For mirrored thoughts are oft found By the essence and your being Doing the will and are oft bound To the dwelling— or one's body Faithful and true— the banner you wear Words that are found to be Upon the countenance and oath you swear By they who can see— For one may be a friend you find For their enemies must beware That you are not only a strong-one to bind But it’s strength and precision you bare Peace is found amongst your friends As war and misery to enemies As the demons themselves can’t contend With your realm of limited boundaries
Serpent of Truth Thrown to thy belly, through dust I crawl Thrown to deception.....underneath it all North, south east and west Having searched, yet to find rest Seek without ceasing and ye shall find Through the dust called confusion, of thy mind Pray in thy closet, which is thy head To see yourself, the one who's dead A slave still chained and bound Yearning for freedom, yet not found Fallen under a curse, a deep sleep Unable to awaken, for beliefs I still keep To open thy eyes, and become wise To know the fruit, under its disguise Struggle this battle, which is, inside To find an answer, yet lies I find Unable to accept, unable to renew For many are called and chosen are few
Season of Satan For when the time was fixed Bound by fates and destiny Satan is said to have mixed His demons amongst humanity Disguised as humans both they and he Unseen and hidden as both you and me For some are said to be sensitive too Warnings they find and try to issue For the timing itself is found to be fixed Bound to destiny— its crucifix When his voice emerges from within And your guts begin to say That it’s he— himself that’s here to begin And it’s you—now who can soothsay For the wicked serpent that is found Like the sun— eternally bound And from the guts found within your belly Can barely digest the concept which is found most— brilliantly Season of Satan—time is at hand One raised above and one down below As you try to then withstand The knowledge in your belly— that you swallow
Katrenia Busch is a Freelance Film Critic for Hollywood Weekly Magazine, former editor for Aware Earth an an investigative journalist for The Total Plug. Some of her published works can be found in the Screech Owl, Literature Today, Riverrun, Literary Yard, Poetry Super-Highway, Police Writers, Westward Quarterly, Dark Elements, The Feeel magazine among others. She published an essay on psychoanalysis and is a Peer-Reviewer for The American Psychological Association, reviewing journals such as Psychology of Consciousness: Theory, Research and Practice and she has also published articles on the national healthcare system for Senior Care Quest.
Serpent of Truth originally appeared in The Screech Owl, December 2014. All three others are being published for the first time.