Be-gone

by Stephen Watson

I hold no fear of you
Satan's servant;
Ghoul of many names from
The nether-world.

I lay here on my death-bed;
Detached in my final hours
From Earthly concerns, and out-stare
Your cavernous eyes of mystery.

I will not surrender to your will;
Take your scythe and be-gone:

Back to your lair of eternal misery.

For I laugh in your face;
Even as my coffin is lowered
Into the virgin earth.

As my spirit hastens into the warm light
Of love, your dark senses shiver
To the sounds of mocking laughter;

Echoing and growing; mine joining
In happy harmony with the myriad
Number of souls that escaped your
Vice-like clutch.

A choir of newborn angels;
Home again.

17-May-2014

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