The Devils Windless Chamber

Dennis L. Siluk

For the devil there is no wind—
There is no breath, only a chamber
Where the blood between the highs,
Awaits—awaits the day: the day
Long life—chains him
       Like an eagle clinging, clinging— To mason walls, faceless stone walls:
Walls collapsing with brittle bones,
Earless, eyeless, walls of stone.

Here speechless worms appalled—
Watch and wait, with pulsating claws,
Murderous claws that want to reach him: To eat his marrow, and such his salty blood.


His hands tremble, and his heart pounds.
Something grabs his arm, his throat—.
His horny head, his egg-shell eyes,
His shark-teeth—all scream, yet chains remain.
He beats his chest and cracks his face; With scorpion legs, he kicks his belly.
He snatches from the wall dirt to eat.
He stands covered in brackish blood;
Worms watching and waiting—waiting.
He drops his head, like a sword tossed Like a sword tossed to the ground—.

"From dust to dust," he murmurs,
"Let me die like a god!"


The devil clapped his beak, scratched it, He looked for a sip of water—
And cried to heaven—
But no one noticed, not anymore.
Yet, yet still he could hear his heart pound, As a strange silence came about,
And the dribble from the worms, longed.

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