Our Soul’s Shelf Life
Our Soul’s Shelf Life
by Stewart Stafford
Become the Devil’s bedmate,
As sabbath witches burnt before,
Hear serpentine vacant promises,
Kiss his ring at the soulless door.
Warned of the bloody nib, you signed
The infernal contract, no appeal,
Notarised by Mephistopheles,
The cherry high of a rotten deal.
In death’s cold cowl, clarity comes,
The swaying gibbet reveals itself,
Another fool tempted between sheets,
A Southern-fried soul on the shelf.
© 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.
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