Azazel

Sitting on the porch watching worlds collide

And wondering if the truth will be classified

Sipping a mint julep; knowing I should be horrified

Though I would consider that undignified

Gazing at the players moving their pawns

Fighting against destiny to become icons

Listening to the warriors singing their songs

And to the clanging of iron and bronze

I, the master puppeteer, watch with glee

As I make the once civil act so beastly

I have made them eat the fruit of the poison tree

And bent their will to suit my idiosyncrasy

I am the dulcet whisper in your ear

That tempts and beckons you year after year

I cajole with lies and caress with fear

I am the master puppeteer, the vile engineer