The Sage

The demons masked in their seclusion
Awakened by the familiar call to haunt.
Dancing through his present plight,
A memorial dance of his contamination.
He accepts the tribute without protest,
Glaring at them, with nostalgic discontent
They glare back like self-anointed oracles
As to say, we are you, and you, our sage.
He collapses feeling the burden of truth.
The demons sulk back to their caverns
And await the familiar call to haunt.

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