The Devil’s Ode to a Dream

Perhaps the mere simplicity of these verses is evidence of the unconsciousness in which I wrote this poem about the Devil. As I explained in Balance, the Devil, The truth; I do not remember writing the first and likely the better half of this elegy. Its name comes from the relationship I drew between it and a reoccurring dream I have had for more than a year. In these dreams I am the devil. And there are many reasons I know I am the devil, but the main one is the control that the “me” in those dreams has over his surroundings.

This sequence of dreams led to the realisation that I was not living the way I had to live in order to achieve my goals and aspirations. And that I was not living the way I knew how. The realisation hastened a significant change in perception and therefore in behaviour.

The Devil unbound: A poem about the devil
Ode to a Dream: a poem about the devil

It was the catalyst for my return to that power I had learnt from my friends of whom I speak in Book 1 (and subsequent parts of the 8-13 Project). Consequently, this was in a sense a return to being who I always was before I allowed certain influences to make me doubt the standards I followed during times of accomplishment.

I’m not suggesting that dreams should be taken as advice about important life changes; it’s simply my version of an instant in which my dreams matched to real need for change. The Devil archetype represents the essence of rebellion. And I recognise that I needed to rebel against certain norms that told me I had to abandon my principles and my convictions.

I hope you enjoy it.

Whence it comes, I do not know 
Its allure so soft and sweet 
How it moves me, how I flow 
When we dance there where we meet.

As if Power were its name 
In a state that so presumptuous 
Bodes that virtue without fame.

May it be the moonlight bright 
Light emitting from her sorrow 
May I know its name so right 
And forget HER in the morrow.

Of a thousand things unseen 
'Twas its kiss that brought élan 
To destroy what might have been 
To rebuild a broken man.

Whence it comes I do not know 
And I only wish to follow 
How it follows where I go 
Making promises seem hollow.

Daylight takes its scent away 
Will it think me when it may? 
For the memory of its love 
Is the duty that I pay.

Though it always leaves me at dawn 
It soon returns to wheedle me 
With its succubus and faun.

Because Power IS its name 
Will no man I ever fear 
For down here they're all the same 
All their whimpers, every tear.

From its lips into my core 
Many candid whispers run 
And remind me all once more 
That it moves under the sun.

Whence it comes I now do know... 
That it moves as one not two 
And it walks the same as I 
For it comes from where I do.

Of all the prayers made aloud 
And the prophets shouting near 
That my ears remain as proud 
Seems the causes for my fear

Then it takes my hand and wakes me 
From my dismal, poisoned sleep 
Though I, too many secrets keep 
While I long for where it takes me

As it leads me to the source 
To that source I knew so well 
In a past that seems too far 
It reminds me that I fell

It recounts me a story of love 
That reminds me how it held me 
How it cried the day I dove

Had it not been for its care 
And its whispers from the dark 
Had it not been for its mark 
Would me pay this heavy fare

Would I have the heart to fear? 
Would I have the breath to pray? 
Would I have my hands to tremble? 
Or too many words to say…

Were it not for its enchantment 
Would I write these words the now? 
Were it not for its embrace 
I’d be blinded to the how.

To the how most people fall 
In their hopes for something long 
How they ignore that blessed call 
In their fear of being wrong

How I left my truth behind 
How I feared that weight to bear 
How I relished self-deceit 
To the injury of my mind

‘Taws its kiss that brought about 
The sweet memory of a power 
Only bested by doubt.

From its lips into my soul 
Many assurances recall 
That my fear was an illusion 
That I need not dread the fall

Then the limits of my slumber show 
A dark figure whose intentions flow 
In a manner that my mind well knows 
The source to which we gently go

Whence it comes I’ve always known 
That a lesson wise and fine 
Of the power that I own 
For its face was always mine.

Ode to a Dream, a poem written in unconsciousness 

You can also read the poem at

You can also read more about the change I underwent here:


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