draft pome - Visit from the Auditors

T.P left me his auditors; who came to check the books,
in numbers large and magical, they pondered in black soot.
The tales of them are legendary, the hearses are all arrayed
in black, the windows slip up and down by button grimed,
by well aged digits in soft skin gloves.
.
They wanted to make sure it was true, and everything to add up,
they wanted nothing to be out of line, yet hadn't worked original sin
into the mix. Nothing to account for humanity, it was a cursed race.
Deep in the depths of moonlit hours they like to play Swan Lake.
"Oh fear the dappled dawn," said One, parsing life by edges,
"When all the light hits the eye at once, and causes such odd urges...."
.
With this extrodinary particular statement, which caused it to be -
claimed it's alienation. "Oh rise the sun," ecclaimed the Victim
who didn't fear the dawn, and had worked out the formulu -
to never fear fear, and live to live each hour. "Bang on!"
.
"Bang on!" was counted as inanity, and put on the debit column.
The words of life are so much and many, especially for a writer -
"You have no space for any more," claimed One, spectrally.
"I'll suck the life from you for evermore, hand over your soul -
and you'll live again, inside our young." Only I saw - the light
of contradiction, to live again is a dreadful thing, if life is yours
to keep. "Bamg off!" I returned in less than fortunate terms.
.
It wrote it down again, I'd made the unmentionable, turned the key,
locked up my fate. "Bang off, Bang off!" I screamed in stress,
"I won't put up with any more, go count up your silly lives,
I want to write a book - without interuption, and without claims
that you wrote it first." The robes shook in fury and their digits
started nodded sharp left as dogs on a dashboard in dayglo orange.
.
"You're our project," the answer came, "For six years and more -
until your death, you'll not write again. We'll have the lot !"
Such a fare I had, a face I had, a motion of need flow through.
"Get lost," I replied, cold as ice, "I will, I'll write a book!
I'll name your names, I'll make you pay, I'll roll you
in the dirt. I'll not add to your coffers, nor marry the daft swains
you carry, from conquests near and far.... I'll push you back!"
.
When my books were put out as epubs, on the internet,
they got out the media, spake fairly to the measly lot,
"Oh pimple sweet, oh maiden pure, we wrote our books with ease,
and Lo, behold this dreadful person, has put out our ideas and plot....
Oh help us please, to justice ease. Let honesty prevail..."
In the corner of their eye, madness flickered demon red.
.
(c) RJl