Poem -

THE SEVENTH SEAL

THE  SEVENTH  SEAL

In the film by Bergman, I'm playing chess against the devil,
I have to win in order to live and keep the reaper still;
all this 'soul gathering' is nonsense - to do what?
perhaps 'him' too - eternally, is there anything he's got?

I imagine myself as the devil - I can upset anyone,
why - is it some obscure game, more important, who done?
who introduced such a rediculous figure to counter fun,
there are few candidates, it's the one who created the sun.

The fallen angel rose to be a Russian oligarch,
and anything else that happend to be on the march;
however, his pathetic persona turned out to be a loner,
with rattling chains and the attributes of a sad loner.

But all was not lost, like a storm that would abate,
I gleefully whipped the bad puppy and said: 'Checkmate!'

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