It’s no accident that theatrical tragedies have been so popular for millenia, that clowns wear a frown or success often rises from the ashes of defeat. Is the twisted life of a comic genius the source of his acerbic wit?

Through a combination of fault and fate I’ve walked a rocky path this last year or so and though I’ve had to face up to harsh realities there have been times when I’ve wondered if I’ve been over analytical. The truth is: this has probably been the most incisive and creative time of my life though I would swap it in an instant. It’s only through pain you can identify the hurt which I might have missed had I been more stoic. I asked myself if it was wise to seek enlightenment whenever thoughts troubled me and though I concede that bread is more useful than wisdom, on this occasion I thought it worth the detour.

And so I thought maybe I heard the devil whisper and was there any benefit in listening. If you read into this the morality of truth or a theology of evil you have completely missed the point.

When the Devil Whispers

When the devil whispers
I strain to hear
Though I’m told
He is the master of deceit
And father of lies
He is no fool

As old as the hills
And counsellor of kings
He is neither jester
Nor civil servant
Even Jesus did not dismiss him

Only when it is obscured
Is the window honest
No man is true
Nor demon false
A clean window
Is perfectly hidden

So I will doubt men of God
When they claim to see
And myself
When I think I understand
Or know what’s true

Like marks on the window
Tell me when it has rained
So my troubled mind
Echoes his whispers
And through his stained glass lies
I see the truth

© Chris Price 2010