I run a finger along my servant’s neck

To him the finger appears from nowhere
He shudders as my laughter echoes in the halls
I could pull his throat out at any moment, the pathetic worm

And worm that he is, he grovels on his belly
in appropriate recognition of his lowly servile stature

I emerge from the higher depths
and observe his entire existence with one stare
A lesser daemon, he and his ilk think me now in private
Far below the godly station their forebears once gave me

I see his without and within all at once
perceive each molecule of his innards
and this fool presumes to keep secrets from me?

Great Mother, he whimpers

I throw his body into the higher depths for an instance to transfigure it
His feeble mind comprehends but a slice
of what it experiences before his left becomes right and right becomes left and then
I dress the halls in his matter

Lesser daemon I may be
but seals weaken and lessons are needed
so other worms may remember to watch their thoughts