David Burt - An Anatomy of Hallucination

Poem


	A Soul Lost
	It was almost three in the morning, A heavy mist was in the air, The pilgrim pulled his cloak around him And made his way across the square. The hollow sound of his leather boots Echoed dully on cobbled stone, A lonely sound there in the mist, But that pilgrim was not alone!
	His companion, cowled and wraith like Walked in silence near his side, He claimed he owned the pilgrim’s soul And would collect it when he died. So for now, the spectre followed A mere half a step behind The pilgrim searched for sanctuary Claiming the Devil’s contract remained unsigned.
	The pilgrim had been tempted, And in part he was to blame. He had wished his creditors all to Hell To be consumed in the Devil’s flame! The creditors ceased to plague him And good fortune came his way, So too did a tall cowled wraith, His companion from that day.
	The pilgrim crossed the deserted square, His aim, to break the Devil’s hold By seeking sanctuary in a church Now that he was grey and old. He had enjoyed the Devil’s gifts For many a year and day, The wraith then took a half step forward And stole the pilgrim’s soul away.

	A Lost Soul (Audio)