Black Candles

Black candles melt on the mantle,
Illuminating gloom. Awaiting doom, under an anvil,
I stand still.
There are stains on my hands still.
Under light of the flickering flames I
gaze, entranced, at the dripping remains.
I've done deeds. I've undone weaves.
I'm loosening screws, concealing clues underneath.
I've wrapped things in sheets and chains.
I've changed lanes and switched pathways to remain free from blame.
I don't question the source of these voices.
Their commands leave me with no choices.
Who can deny a decree from the sky
But a fool? I'm a dummy, but no fool am I.
And though I may pay one day for what I've done,
I don't stray from what they say 'til that day comes.
I hold my tongue, cross my T's, play dumb,
And never leave a victim where my hat is hung.
I ride upon a miniature stallion, no saddle.
In my satchel, a voodoo rattle,
A bottle of newt eyes, a bat wing,
a little red book, and a twine-bound bundle of fiddleheads.
In my stead I best remain steadfast
along my course or instead end up dead last.
Racing my shadow but I'm weary.
Begging mercy of the Gods but I fear they cannot hear me.
I only travel at night under the moon glow.
Quiet, but inside of my head a bassoon blows.
(What is that!?)
(It's nothing, it's a puppet.)