DCLXVI (a poem)

The Devil and his Muses by Frank Walls

The following poem was published in artist Frank Walls’s art book, The Order of the Black Triangle (link at the bottom of the page). It accompanies this amazing painting (above) by Frank Walls.

DCLXVI

Call me what you will, for I am he who they call

Baphomet, Beelzebub, Satan, Lucifer, et al.

They say I am evil incarnate — the profane one who fell

But I am merely the sum of my muses

Whose sins feed my freedom from above

So below, my flock gathers to kiss my cloak

And blaspheme and swear to me their pathetic, deathless love

See Lilith twisting in the gloomy mire, her ashen flesh alluring

She was my first tainted muse, fraught with every indiscretion

She has since lured many with her sacred carrion call

And a multitude of golden sins from now unto the ancient days

When I, as Baal, roamed bloody Carthage streets with Tanit at my side

Then on to Gehenna and Phoenicia, fat on the souls of slain brats

Rivers of virginal blood scarred the earth

Tributaries to the Stygian underworld

Where my army of legion stands tall, hand to hand

Waiting for my beck and call

As the heartbeat of humanity pounds like a clanging bell

Each toll scarred into my blood-inked ledger

Each name registered for internment and entertainment

I summon roiling clouds of pain and fear and lust

For the new blood and the death of the lamb

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust . . .

And still, they come in reverence

The chosen ones who will their breath to me

Temptation lures them far away

From the illusion of divine sanctuary

Take this flesh and blood unto you, I say to them

So that it may make you real and truly flawed

For you have wandered far away

From the Land of Eden and false promises of your bastard God

I am the one who sees all undone in darkness and in light

This world slews on an axis of suffering and deceit

Eternalised by an obsession with what is wrong and what is right

This mortal muse knows no bounds, no cosmic revelation

As they crawl en masse like buzzing flies toward the deathly light

Towards the sun, the luminous moon, the self-throned liar lurking in the clouds

And it is this that makes me smile and grow and dance into the night

No song of mine, no rhetoric, or poem

Can sway those who so freely and wilfully come alone

To the dark kingdom, a dominion of my making,

Bequeathed to all who seek the throne.

---

If you enjoyed this poem, you will like my poetry collection, 

Corpus Delicti: Selected Poetry. 

Download your copy via the link below.

Click the image above to download.

This post first appeared in Grey Matter Dispatch, my Substack newsletter. To receive my free newsletter and support my work, subscribe below or use the Grey Matter Dispatch link 

(top right/sidebar).

If you’d like to check out more of Frank Walls amazing art, here is the link to The Order of the Black Triangle art book: https://www.orderoftheblacktriangle.com/

#occultpoetry #poetry #darkpoetry #horrorpoetry #gothicpoetry #poem #gothic #esoteric #occult #horror