The Magic in the Sky Sees Lucifer Run
Thick with Magic and
Hanging onto the air
Who calls forth
The whirlwinds to
a hurricane through.
A plague has entered
papers that indoctrinate religion,
Ripping them to pieces,
Throwing light into shadows cast.
What is this I
The box, that lay before me
Is one described in the stories,
A seemed to be wished-up nightmare
Of a locked-up
Don't you see?
There is a tale behind this tiny keeper
The tale of a man and his monsters and now
the hill there is not a soul
To be seen, But when the clouds whisper ill
He coughs up a sight,
Conjuring his souls.
The little ones are carried
by droplets of rain
While the others,
Arrive with scorches of lightning
And he takes this box with ancient scripture
throws it powerful enough to bloom into a colorful rapture.
When all colors come to a gliding halt
Burning red gleams,
And white glisten
Beneath the pale silver moon.
With a snap of the
Fire lights his hands.
He shouts for the Wind
To send message of his spectacle.
The Wind grows
Heeding to the master's command.
It's howl whistles
Of children asleep in their beds
It sings the tale of the ringmaster’s circus
dreams of candy
Cotton so soft and
Smile drawn lips curled on rosy cheeks
glaring at gleeful clowns,
And music, a melody sugary coated sweet.
Smiles spring wide upon the children’s faces
ring master lifts his palm to the sky
And blows through his hand
So papers fly and dance
about the flower beds,
Ring around trees
The ringmaster is pleased.
The high hums of the circus echo through town
While all gather in a line stretching down three
The keepers of fun.
Top hat red
And blue hue
blackened boots shine spanking new
Looking like Uncle Sam,
Grins and with a flick of
The peppermint curtains rise.
Dwarfs run balancing
Others dance clicking their heels.
In the corner people crowd to behold a man
Who eats man, an adult attraction
He feeds on blood
and thrives on flesh,
A person who slips on leather skin to hide
True character behind fresh horror.
In the other
People crowd to point fingers in awe
Of the Girl with no Spine
With makeup drawn to
So even when she frowns a smile still stays.
know nothing of bone that once stood her frame,
Only see the skin that stretches
And the contorted shapes that give her no name
But a delectable claim to fame.
Yet the most respectable
Of the renowned sensation
Is the clown.
They run in separate corners of the circus,
Giggling, wriggling, and tickling about
Muttering jokes of all sorts,
Keeping it clean for
the kids, of course.
All the while
The Cyclops stares with one eye,
Two face glares with all four,
The strongman waits for more praise
And over there
Townspeople gasp “Oh! My!”
At the lions and tigers and bears.
a thick fog, the ringmaster is seen,
Sitting, staring, glaring
With his eyes a stinging
Lighting a way through the swirls of grey
Seen with a spark of merriment,
But buried deep within his heart
A malign root grows
So it pulls his skin until a gritty grin shows.
of his performers gaze into his ghoulish eyes and nod their heads.
They stop their acts and come together.
The ringmaster floats slowly and waves his hands
conductor, leading his band through their greatest performance yet.
The townspeople gather round
With that spark of excitement gleaming in their eyes.
ringmaster is pleased,
So he dances and slides,
Thriving on the people’s laughter.
But his bliss comes not from the merit of their smiles,
But the impending doom that sits on end.
Wending its way through the crowd.
All of the performers take their places.
The Girl With no Spine twists and bends,
Cannibal yanks off his people’s mask
To reveal a deformed face,
Leaving the one that left his mother disgraced,
The Clowns blow balloons,
While the Strongman beats his fists to the ground
So the tiles ripple and burst the balloons.
spurts and disperses through the air,
Splattering, rattling the crowd.
flickers a smile.
In the background Cyclops and Two Face play violins.
The sound screeches its way
Into the people’s ears and
Long thorn vines
appear, they reach for miles
And work their way up the watchers,
Bind their limbs
and grapple eyelids.
The ringmaster screams,
Behold my wonders!
Behold your wonders!
Watch them come alive,
See them thrive
And revive their lives
Without their ringmaster!
The ringmaster lowers his hand,
The performers look at him with glazed eyes.
I am the one that took you in when the world rejected you!
The Ringmaster cries
You are the one that held us in chains!
roars flinging his shackles,
“You are not our master, just the demon that we feared!
with no Spine chimes
You are one of us!
The Clowns sing in harmony,
Lucifer! Cyclops beams.
All performers step off their stages
And creepily crawl to the ringmaster
His hot rage cooled, collected horror.
The audience’s gasps trickle with small laughs
The performers bring their faces to meet their rotten foe.
They lift his body drained from magic
And toss him through the crowd
Till the sky opens and swallows him up
a vortex of smoke
And fragments of the ringmaster’s box
with no spectacle.
All of the performers arise
From the darkness of the shadowed circus
And step into the sunlight at the foot of the hill.
with particles of the ringmaster’s
They let their minds slip deeper
Into the promised land—
Until they disappear
Into the warmth of the sun.
The vines loosen their
The townspeople march out,
Their eyes vexed with
leftover magic and dark prints
Of the performers stuck to their eyelids
rays of the hot melting sun.
to their normal lives, still
Echoing high hums of the circus
That took place the day before
Hoping that what happened
will be the tale of their town—
An ancient folklore
For the later generations to explore.
Atop the hill,
There is not a Soul to be seen
But when the wind
And the clouds
Draw in with swirls of grey,
And purple volts shoot
from the sky
You can see the ringmaster etched in the soil
And intertwined in the blades of green
hill, tipping his hat—
Waiting for the rain to fall,
So he can come put on the greatest spectacle,
Enchanting to the core—
Lets See Lucifer
Run Once More!
Hatzialexandrou is a poet and fiction writer from the Bronx with an affinity for horror and the macabre. She is currently
attending Hunter College on the upper east side of Manhattan. Anjelica hopes to share her words with anyone willing to listen.