If it were possible,

I would have danced with God

in the Sunlight.

But he never came to me.

And now that the song has ended…

seeing no available chairs

beneath the eclipsed moon…

may the Devil

have mercy,

on my soul.

Copyright © 1986-2017

Alan Salé

All Rights Reserved

contact: AASalehi@gmail.com

PoetryByAlan.com

Come.

Dance with me

I’ll teach you new moves

As we dance

I’ll sing you a song...

Darling little devil

Darling little devil

Do you know what love is?

Love is a condition

You live for it

Or die by its

But you have a revision

Like driving a car in reverse 

I do not lie

My word is a sword

Cut through 

But does not die

No, No

Don’t play with me

Don’t even try

I don’t give false hope

So don’t spit in my mouth

You told me let’s wander

And I said sorry, 

It’s out of my hand

I showed you where I live

And how I die

You knew where I land

Oh, wait-

Yes! I lie

I lie once a day

When someone asks me

How I’m doing? 

I answer; just fine

Yes, I lie

When someone 

Looks in my eyes

I fake a smile

Yes, I lie

I lie once a day

Darling little devil

Darling little devil

Do you know what love is?

You told me once you’ve loved

Yes, you’ve loved

You loved the past

You loved the present 

And left the clock on the wall

Ticking. . .

You told me the story

About this...

And...

You told me things-

We were good friends

And when I saw you sinking

In-your-own-blood

I gave you my hand

But-

Oops... my hand’s bleeding now

Looks like I’ve trusted another

Human, again

And my kindness

Turned on me in pain

Again!

Darling little devil

Let me tell you a little story-

Once upon a time:

When I was a little kid

I went to the church every Sunday

And one of the Sundays

Fortunately!

I was just got out of the church

After they taught us the lesson

Of the day- love...

And told us the story about 

The rich man who gave away

Everything

And followed the

Word

At the end of the day

They gave everyone an apple

While I’m on my way home

I found a homeless

And I didn’t have money

But I remembered the lesson

So I gave him the apple

It was all I had...

An apple-

Not a piece 

Not a half

But the whole

Now I have grown- Deeper

And I’ve become 

A homeless, too!

And an angel gave me

An apple

So I kept it!

For I’m a homeless 

Sorry...

I don’t have apples 

To give away

I am a homeless

Not a farmer!

And don’t curse at the angels 

Or you will get burned in hell

Even though they forgive sinners 

But karma is a bitch, right?

And does not forgive

When it comes to justice

Darling little devil,

Love is an art

Drew by artists

Painted with honesty

If you really an artist

Don’t take an apple from homeless

To draw it on your canvas 

And make an art out of it

But leave it to him to survive 

His homelessness 

#499words #devilishpinch 

(Jesus will soon return to continue his original work)

If you. Like me. Lived lovingly amongst your enemies.

Then no doubt you've heard the saying that irks me so.

Family matters. He's family bro. Never turn your back on family bro.

So true......

Unless you wish for a knife to be put there.

Ms. Then? You must trust? Strike two. Duck! Unless headless you wish to tread to and fro work. For your so called ride or die hoe.

A mothers love than most surely? As if'y as any other. If price you can't pay. Then love go another way. Would die for you. Yes. Only because it's easier than living with you.

What's expected of you. What the devil have you? There's a lie around the corner of every truth. Stop living like you don't notice.

Spare not your children. Quote this. Be sure they make note of this. Bullets for their chambers. Without them life is hopeless.

And blame never be a thing you can't get past. Fee you ask? The price of this Unbittered living spree. Whatever work done need be. By thee. Son of someone. Trap! Abracadabra. Had a good nap Pap? Snap!!! Sleep now like sheep hypnotized by their shepherd.

No not that craft me. So you sleep narcoticly. For as long as a trusted son still consider me. Now where my brother are you hiding?

Jesus. Come out come out wherever you are. It’s your brother. Just want to say sorry. My bad. I totally accept all the blame. I just want to make things right. You died for me as well? I'm assuming. Don't make an ass out of you and me. Let me atone for my sins. I wear no evil grin. "Eight" Go fish. "Son? Still hear? Has your brother arrived finally? " No papa smurf. A no. Go fish.

Why hello my comely friend

Shall we meet in shadow at days end?

I am your goddess of light

You crave that which was shut out of you

I'm here for your delight.

I miss our daily walks and talks

amid the heavenly spheres.

Now stop trying to get me to take a walk

on the wild side

I know your hurt, you have your pride.

Now take thy comfort whilst in my presence

For my time is short I don't have much essence.

Before we part I give you this kiss before I go

This blessing is special from me to you,

because I loved you before you fell and I love you still.

My heart only loves you,

and this is the only way I can deal with you.

The small teacup was an inherited piece. It clinked gently as her guest stirred with a sterling spoon, another heirloom.

"I see you went for the formal treatment," he smiled.

Nervously, Margaret smoothed imaginary wrinkles in her evening dress. She'd never worn it out of the house; a little black number bought for the late husband's business dinners. She put it on sometimes, just to mourn lost opportunities to dress up.  She rarely mourned the man long gone.

"Tell me about your late husband." His smile was gone, but amusement animated his expressive face. A well-trimmed beard framed angular jaw. Just a dash of salt danced with the pepper of his facial hair, appearing again at the temples. He could have been forty, or he could have been seventy. If seventy, he carried it like a Hollywood superstar.  If he was forty, it was the perfect balance of having lived a reckless youth that turned wiser with age. Completing his likeness to Hollywood royalty, his confidence and charm reminded her of Clooney. A boy and a man, and all the more handsome for it.

She startled at his demand, taken aback. He liked his little games, having already known about her husband.  He knew the pain of loss was still fresh, even if years old.

"What would you like to know?" Her voice almost didn't shake.

"Sir." He spoke it casually, as he began to sip his tea.

She blushed. "What would you like to know, sir?"

"Are these fig newtons?" He gestured at the polished silver tray she'd sat out for today's meeting.

"They're apple."

"Like Eve?" He chuckled, taking one and nibbling.

"I suppose so, sir. Do you like them?" She hazarded a shy smile.

"They're delightful, Maggie. And so are you!" His rich baritone lifted her spirits with the praise, and her smile broadened. "But stop stalling."

"He was a bastard, sir. A right bastard. But he's all I had."

"Go on."

"When you asked me, all those years ago, and I said yes, I thought things would get better."

"Well, now, Maggie. Let's keep this about him, not us. Focus."

Turning a deep shade of crimson, she fidgeted with the hemline of her dress that had stayed closeted since being purchased. "He beat me, sir. He called me names, claimed I was broken because I was barren. I gave him no heirs, and I gave him no pleasure, he said to me. Almost every day."

"Even on the day that you killed him?" He said it with a smile, sitting down his teacup. "This was excellent tea, Maggie. I have to say, I think the secret is your heavy cream."

Her heart stopped.

"I didn't kill him, sir. You did."

Silence filled the little living room of her one-bedroom walk-up. It was all she could afford, after the estate was settled. The house in Brent had been the first thing to go, so now she had a flat in Harrow.

She was the first to break under the deafening quiet.

"Would you like some more tea, sir?"

"I'd like you to admit it, Maggie. Confess."

"But...sir. Sir, I didn't lift a hand against him! You know that!" She clutched the hem in both fists.

He laughed. "Maggie, why did you call this meeting with me?"

"I'd like to renegotiate terms." She shocked herself by not stammering.

His eyes widened in genuine amusement, and he leaned back on the small sofa. Gesturing to her to continue, he listened.

"When we last spoke, you told me I could be free. You let me believe that you had the solution to my problems. You swore that no man would ever raise another hand to me."

"And, Maggie, has a man raised a hand to you since our conversation?"

"No, sir, that's just it. No man has so much as touched me since Harry...died."

"That's a shame, Maggie. You're a lovely woman." As he complimented her, he placed a hand on her knee.  He gave a friendly, if slightly flirtatious, shake.

Her heart skipped a beat at the touch.

"You promised me freedom, but look at where I am. I'm nearly living in squalor, sir!"

"Ah, Maggie. You rule here. This is yours. Your domain. You are the master of everything around us. Is that not enough?" He grinned, and she found his wink disquieting.

"I'm grateful for what I have, but, sir, I used to have so much more."

"And you were forsaken, Maggie. Unappreciated. Undervalued. Abused. Disrespected and disillusioned. So you cast off your chains and chose to fly!" He laughed, delighting in the retelling of an old tale.

"But, sir, all I've done is fall."

He grew serious, and the dark look that clouded his face scared her more than a little.

"You chose to jump. Some of us were thrown. Be grateful for the time you have left. You still have much life to live, and it could be worse. Far worse. You'll know soon enough how well you have it here."

It could have been her imagination, but she was relatively sure she could see wisps of steam rising from his skin.

"So our agreement, then..." she trailed off, surprised she had the courage to speak at all in the face of his flared temper.

"It stands. As written. I've kept my end, to the letter."

"What of a man?"

He regarded her from across the couch.

"I told you they'd never raise a hand to you again."

"But I didn't realize that meant I'd never be touched for the rest of my life!"

He smirked.

"Maggie. You can have a night with me."

Her heart stopped. Longing, fear, disgust, hope, dread, and lust all competed within her, tightening her chest and making it hard to breathe.

She whispered, "At what cost?"

She knew it wasn't her imagination when his eyes briefly glowed red, then returned to normal.

"It's already in the contract, my sweet. You really should read the fine print."

“Never make a deal with the Devil-”

     My father’s warning echoed through my ears. A distant memory. He made the mistake, and he swore to teach me better. He gave me his last wisdom, seconds before death, seconds before the Devil came to claim his end of the deal.

     My mother was in the hospital. Lung disease had tormented her body; we all knew she did not have long left. Presently, she was healthier now than she was in her twenties. My father in return was six feet under. That was a year ago. My mother was healthy but she wasn’t living. Depression filled her soul once she realized what my father had done. My siblings were not any better. The loss of our dad left us all numb. My brother was forced to grow up without father. My sisters would never be given away at their weddings.

     It had been a year, but it still felt fresh. An open wound that refused to heal.

     I mulled over his words once more. I closed my eyes and considered them.

     I had to do this.

     I grabbed the pistol from the nightstand and loaded it.

     “Devil,” I called out.

     The air grew hot and thick. Sweat beaded down my face, the feeling of flames licking at my heels. The room dimmed, only a red glow saturated the room.  I was taking a gamble, and I was all in.

     “Alex,” The Devil cooed, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

     “I want to make an offer. Similar to my father’s.” I admitted.

     “A life for a life?” the Devil said with a smug smile.

     “A life for a life,” I established.

“Have the Devil make a deal with you,”

     I smirked as I remembered his dying words.

     I lifted the gun, aiming at his temple, “Your life, for my father’s,”

     “Do you think that can harm me?” The Devil laughed.

     The faith in my plan wavered at his confidence, but I kept the act up.

     “I know it can,” I asserted as I cocked the revolver.

     I watched the slight shift in his face. His composure fell for fractions of a second.

     “You came here. You’re on mortal ground now. When my father made a deal with you, each of you pricked the others finger to sign the contract. So what makes you think I can’t draw your blood now?” I retorted.

     “You know nothing of these things,” The Devil spoke.

     I shifted my aim to the right and fired. He watched the bullet rush past his head. The slug buried itself in the wall, and when the Devil turned back the gun was trained on his head once again.

     “Would you like to test your theory?” I prompted, “Because I’m willing to fire, and I have nothing to lose,”

     We held eye contact. I pulled back the hammer of the gun once again, narrowing my eyes.  I held his gaze, unable to read his expression. I tightened my grip on the pistol and began to apply pressure to the trigger.

     He glanced at the pistol and inhaled sharply, “Wait-“

     “Wait,” He conceded, “Fine, I shall bring your father back-,”

     “Alive and well,” I added.

     The devil let out a short burst of air, “Alive and well,” He repeated.

     “Deal?” I proposed.

     “Deal,” The Devil sneered.

     Seconds passed and I waited for his end to be fulfilled. Suddenly I heard a muffled commotion downstairs. I smiled.

     “I’ll be seeing you again,” He seethed.

     “This gunslinger will be waiting for you,”

My call echoed in the emptiness: “Prince of Darkness, who are you?”

There were no bovine horns, no glowing eyes or sharpened teeth to see. Only the inner declaration of a dispirited voice from within my mind:

“I am the outside toxicity that enters into the soul. I am subtle and poison slowly. I am vanity, unrealistic perfection and lack of self-acceptance. I can be found when greed encounters desperation or fear - and where empathy lacks. When “winning is everything” - the goal becomes more precious than the soul of another, and you feel its power. Some have even called me “competitive” or “proud”. You hear me in the words of those, who openly judge others. Where there is a lack of acceptance or appreciation, look for me. Many, unable to forgive themselves or others, have come to personally know me on the other side.”

I had to ask, “So, what could you possibly have to offer?”

The voice proposed, “How about a reprieve from your pain? You don’t have to look too closely at yourself or the situations around you. Hell, you don’t even have to accept them as reality! How can something that you refuse to acknowledge actually be real? I have a fine selection of escapes - drugs, sex, entertainment, obsessions, rationalizations, denials and scapegoats - to choose from. If you need love, allow me to offer you the ‘illusion of love’. Who says money can’t buy love? It has been said, however, that ‘Love means never having to say you’re sorry.’ ”

Furious, I blurted out, “Those last eight words are bullshit! I would give damn-near anything to hear my husband admit that what he did was cruel, hear him sincerely apologize, and see him make some kind of effort at amends.”

Laughing, the Prince of Darkness taunted, “You know that will never happen. Get real. The only way your husband is going to appreciate you is when you are gone – and you don’t have the balls to leave. You just sit with your head in your hands, crying, ‘I can’t live without him.’ . . . Then, again, haven’t you also done the unforgivable? Why is it that you expect an apology from your husband, when you have done the very same thing? The only difference is that he didn’t sneak around and lie about it!

“Shit. How do you know?” My heart ached with regret and guilt.

In a matter-of-fact tone, “I am The Devil and know the darkness in your soul. Just because I am malevolent does not mean that I am wrong. Even a liar tells the truth, at times.”

He continued, “So, what will it be?” . . .

Herald-Press Obituary:

<strong>Laura Lynn Tutor</strong> – wife, daughter and friend – took her own life on Friday, June 16, 2017, at her home in Gainesville, Florida. She was 29 years old and was a volunteer at the “Head Start” Program.

Funeral services will be held at the First Baptist Church of Gainesville on June 18, 2017. All are welcome. In lieu of flowers, the family requests donations be sent to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

Dear Son of a Bitch. I write to you  in letter form for I feel it's the safest way for you to deal with me. Were we in person, I would likely end your existence. Yes I said your mother was a bitch, meaning she was as big a piece of shit as you. She should have fuckin' flushed. That said, bring it on you "wanna be" manipulator.  Bring it on you liar! Hit me with your best shot you rotten stench of hell. 

I'm pretty sick of your judgmental attitude. I've had it up to here with your criticisms making futile attempts to infiltrate my brain. You should have done your homework and picked on someone vulnerable enough to give you the time of day. I know you do that; pick on the weak. You bully and force submission into your dysfunctional world of hurt.

You think you got something over on me!? I'll use your desire to consume to my advantage.

You see that heard of pigs over there? The ones that are plentiful on the earth destroying and rooting about? I command you as a representative of God to be in possession of the hairy snort fucks and run for the cliff. You'll cause them to run like the insanity you represent, to their demise and ultimately yours.

It almost seems like I'm letting you off the hook with my kind words because you continue to infiltrate life. You're like a roach and its family in a household.

You have no power over me. You are actually filling my garbage can of wasteful thought. 

Be gone you ass wipe colon employer, producing nothing but shit.

Fuck yourself.

Be the lonely piece of insecure shit you have evolved into. 

Get the real idea that you are an insubordinate fruit fly in my life.

I shouldn't even bother explaining to you what you already know. You're so going down. 

Down..Down..getting warmer? Down..bubbling surfaces? Down.. hurts, don't it? Down, Down, Oh. I guess you shouldn't have been such an ass hole.