An Imp’s Ire – By Kelly D. Tolman

Posted by admin on November 5, 2008

Anger wells up in an impoverished imp.

Sadness.

Longing.

As the brittle malnourished wings crimp

In scorching infernal blaze.

Cast away as a broken birthday toy.

Weakness.

Suffering.

The tiny claws scratch malice from joy

Lost in the grey infernal haze.

Approaching ember-glow sears the eyes.

Fearful.

Painful.

It scurries to its master, whimpers, cries

To serve out the infernal days.

A lost imprisoned, destitute mind

Unworthy

Unjust

Silent comes, cool from behind

To steal its infernal wage.

A soul is a feast upon which it gluts.

Devours.

Vomits.

Stolen from the hand that cuts

And beats it with infernal rage.

Now it stands strong, full of contraband power.

Seething.

Snarling.

Over the old master who bleeds hour by hour

And curses that infernal mage.

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