Eat of the cymbals, drink of the drum.
Celestial mystics, force a kingdom come.
Libation falls, deliver cosmic troth.
Immaculate sons, silent mother hands her cloth.
Pearlescent miracles, dancers of galactic shadow.
Symphony darkens, performing shifty lasso.
Emulous chorals, sound from their fabled stage.
About the Creator
Sam Vela
High Chief Creative Writer and Editer of the Magic Man fiction writers club of Texas. Self appointed and self initiated!
++ to never forget a desire for music, but to forget a career in accounting++
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Masquerade Party
At six feet seven inches tall and approximately two hundred fifty pounds, Samael presented an imposing figure when he walked into a room. His physical stature may be impressive, but his demeanor is the opposite. The shy, some might say, reclusive personality that he developed as a young boy followed him into manhood. His favorite job was crunching numbers in a quiet one man back office of a fiduciary firm. He was always polite, greeting his fellow workers with a “good morning” or “good afternoon” as he walked to the back of the office where his little hideaway was located, but never tried to engage in conversations.
By Mark Gagnon3 days ago in Horror
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