Of the things noticed as lethal, One does the best that one can. Leaning in toward the seduction to evil, Thoughts ran toward being and murdering the man.
Backroom cards are shared with frivolity, But there is a depth below the venality. There, behind the appearance of gentility, Time stood still quite eloquently.
Vampirism was not a topic of ongoing conversation, But instead, there was flirtation and fascination. As two became friends in a blended reduction, The tale tells itself as are the ways of seduction.
Comforting riches steer one from inside the soul, Money is no object when the Devil lends control. The coldness of the season is warmed by coal's fire. No one is the wiser when deceived by increased desire.
Temper and dishonesty breed one another's dishonesty, Until at last there are few to whom we hold fealty. Sitting in judgment of broken souls who become greedy, And everyone still around is increasingly needy.
From river to lake, lake to river, life has heart As every player on the stage plays out their part. Communicating thoughts that others cannot hear, The way it is done whispers of control and fear.
Slipped deep between the lips of love's desire, The honesty spoken sets the late night on fire. The touch of grace knows sensuality's bounds Are deep within the taste that has been found.
Passion's embrace leads to the first bite. Then nestled in want, the heart finds flight. Given to one's need for such depth of intimacy, The little drink awakens one's deep sensuality.
While some allow themselves to jump the broom, Others, still, are lost to another sense of doom. With a shuffle of feet, the beat leads the dance, These are the mistakes of the Devil's romance.
The Devil is here to seduce and take souls. It is by his tricks that he takes full control. Inch by Inch, the seduction pulls us apart, Bit by bit, he comes to own our mortal hearts.
There will be no more sunrises to be seen, The darkness hides this from tainted human beings. With the last fatality, we drink it away, As we take on this curse, we see the end of days.
This is the vanity that eagerly compels The defiance of the gates and acceptance of Hell. The Devil calls softly, and the weak must come. This is how the vampire builds his kingdom.
The Devil has his way of getting in your head. No matter how you wish, you can no longer be dead. Unable to hear the cries of those who are good, We run, laying down with the Devil and it's understood.
The destruction coming is on a path unswerving, But God's death comes only to those deserving. Ask and receive the dark gift of all eternity, Blasphemously received when asked without apology.
Sealed by the Devil's kiss at one's last breath, Drained of living blood to the threshold of death. The throb of the Devil's drum holds one's reins, As to the last drop the evil is drunk, and blood drains.
Two hearts beat with the sound of hellish thunder, As two Devils now look upon each other in wonder. This then is what becomes of the seduction of evil, And some dare to call it powerful and lethal.
(c) October 4, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, Religion and morality (honesty) are indispensable supports. In vain would that man claim the tribute of Patriotism, who should labor to subvert these great Pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of the duties of Men and citizens.” – George Washington, in his Farewell Address
The world around us is in crisis. Yet it is just as it finds us. Those we call friends try to advise us About all the badness they think we need because..
Things couldn't be bad enough As we find our way through this emergency. We survivors try to hand on tough Though the truth is that we've lost our identity.
We do all we can just to make it home. Mostly, because we fear being alone. It feels like most of our priorities are up for auction, And all we can do is wait for the After Action
Reporting on the reasons we've lost our stability. All we can do is stare in the mirror of what is to be. The house we grew up in holds its dark memory, Like the legacy of its dysfunctional family.
Steamed-up mirrors hide only half of the truth. That's the lesson of life that keeps us aloof. We exchange calls with those we no longer know. That's when the tensions run through start to show.
II.
The problem is that no one listens anymore, But the gift in the basement knows the score. Ill-intended small talk has no turn but to fight. Our ancestors made us who we are in today's light.
Relics are found that have a rare meaning. The demons are found within human beings As each tries to be something we are not, And our meanings like relics are lost, and forgot.
We can find our answers full throttle. They are present at the bottom of the bottle. Tales are told of death; we cannot refuse. Kids have disappeared with each sip of the booze.
The ancient ones eat the children of sorrow. In these stories are lessons for tomorrow. Unexpected pleas reflect lives lived in terror. Evil is reflected in this passage of mirrors.
Each passage is a secret of change. Some things in life won't rearrange. No matter how the waves beat on the coast, The fear in our eyes is the kind that likes to boast.
III.
Dark and twisted are the wanton ways of desire, Though the urges felt burn like passion's fire. Some believers drink the Kool-Aid of latent hate, But some struggle against humanity's fate.
Searching for answers in the black of night, Fear brings our demons into plain sight. Shadows flicker as the sacrifice is begun, Cthulhu is calling as he has always done.
Seen in the darkness is the mind's wicked eye. It goes away for those about to die. Visions of past bodies pile in the light The ancient ones have come to reveal the final night.
The scenes seen are filled with mistake. Sacrifices are made that make the soul shake. The auctioneer of our past life will be crying. Such is the history of old gods dying.
They are waiting on the other side of suicide. The fortune of the world is left to decide. This is the welcome home for the unbeliever - Beware the beached shadow of the dark deceivers.
IV.
Down below is the hidden story Of another time lived without glory. The Marsh men are creatures of the sea. Eternal life is Cthulhu's cherished mystery.
Mankind's bungled moments cannot be borne, As the waters rise on that dark morn. Mankind has caused its own demise. The end does not come to anyone as a surprise.
Still, as death and rampant violence Echo across the world with its great vigilance, The world of mankind will soon be lost. This, then, is the plan and tragic cost.
In the wake of this scene of devastation, Those who are to come will do so with inspiration. This is the spawn of which they openly warn. The evil of tomorrow is already born.
The old world is dying with lasting sacrifice. There is no love but enough hate to suffice. Here now from the tragic seas they at last come To build on this earth, the pillars of Cthulhu's kingdom.
(c) October 3, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“The first maxim of a man who loves liberty, should be never to grant to rulers an atom of power that is not most clearly and indispensably necessary for the safety and well being of society.” – Richard Henry Lee
“You see, we are here, as far as I can tell, to help each other – our brothers, our sisters, our friends, our enemies. That’s to help each other, not hurt each other.” – Stevie Ray Vaughn
Mortality beats a heavy drum in perspective. Memories of past conversations are kept respective Of all the years that have since come and gone. Only the night herself can say when to move on.
The sharing of souls calls for a renewed conversation. The morbidity of vampires is its own desecration. Still, with guarantees in place, confession may be bared, The truth is in the confessions evil has willingly shared.
Too many errors call for truth and reconciliation. An interview begins with intemperate negotiation. Each side realizes there were things left unsaid, But isn't that always the way with the undead?
Generations have passed for this prince among the undead. Storyville holds gambling and gluttony, and more, it is said. Mankind is often motivated and ruled by products of desire. There are the decrepit vices that set the world on fire.
Compassion is seen as a weakness on the streets of liberty. Roughness is the only position strong enough for dignity One mistake after another erodes a man's corruptible soul, Until, at last, it is Lucifer who grabs the hand of control.
These are the pains kept in solemn preparation, And the breakfast table knows its own narration. Every view is heard in pointing to the confusion. The confusion caused by the principalities of delusion.
As a man descends, he loses his way to confession. Instead, he increases his tithe in his concession. Some in the Church willingly look the other way. This is a decision they'll rue one soon-enough-day.
Dirt from the dollars gained lust chased by desolation. The demons of drink knew their own contribution. A jazz band below played along in ragtime syncopation. The Devil knows the strains of this sinful nation.
Shadows are often dancing along the river's edge, Bringing evil's pleasure walked up to the ledge. The gaze of the vampire leaves a man immobilized. This is the weakness found in being mesmerized.
Where a man is willing to slice his brother's breastbone, This is a place where the Devil can make his home. The power of the vampire's gaze emasculates in its measure, And the lesser man becomes less man than a possessed treasure.
(c) October 2, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
“Allow a government to decline paying its debts and you overthrow all public morality-you unhinge all the principles that preserve the limits of free constitutions. Nothing can more affect national prosperity than a constant and systematic attention to extinguish the present debt and to avoid as much as possibly the incurring of any new debt.” – Thomas Jefferson
“When I despair, I remember that all through history, the way of truth and love has always won. There have been murderers and tyrants, and for a time they can seem invincible. But in the end they always fall. Think of it, always.” -Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi (2 Oct 1869-1948)
Addressing bits of truth, In this age of managed publicity, Has since my youth Been a matter of building a legacy.
Thinking on one's feet On the slip of a slippery slope, Helps a man escape self-deceit, Even as he hangs from his last rope.
So much of this is perception, Formed as it is, often without facts. Devious moods practice their deception In a constant stream of senseless acts.
Some say the whole thing needs self-regulation, Because so much is hard to understand. It becomes a master of reputations. They are slaughtered by the corporate hand.
I stare quietly in the open declarative That more often than not, the truth is unknown. The best we can do is share our narrative Based on what we believe has been shown.
Responses given are made to questions measured With miles to go before there will be sleep. The organic nature of life isn't treasured Half as much as it runs incredibly deep.
The truth - as though there is only one - Is that bad days are seen more in life than good. Perceptions given pass off as the one-and-done, And life continues to be lived best as it is understood.
The morning news has become containment. The entertainment value is a matter of profit. And while it might lead to resentful arguments, If the ratings consent, then that's entertainment.
(c) October 1, 2025 Michael Doyle All Rights Reserved
Heading out of Australia to escape this Aussie winter. First stop Japan, then UK/Ireland and if work doesn't call me back, onto Chicago. I will make it up as I go along
ALOHA PROMISES FOREVER 