NaPoWriMo 2013 Day 27 and I am not even waiting for the prompt. I may use it later but I just came up with this.
With wings of brimstone, breath of crusted fire
He soared, he flew and he clawed the loathsome air
Demon soul, demon heart, he breathed the wind
All below him cowered, hands raised in useless pleading
All below him wept, tears of blood, hearts bleeding
He bellowed bible black prayers
His face beautiful in its dark fury
He held all in his icy grip.
He needed no aid to destroy
Mankind did that best themselves
Their tiny self-belief, prayers to useless gods. To him.
His laugh was a crash of thunder
His mind full of labyrinthine method, hallowed …
Joy at man’s own folly and deviousness
Swift retribution their own tortured belief
They needed little of his help to damn their futile selves
Higher he rose as if towards the moon
All man’s dominion stretched below him
In crystal laden air. In Armageddon.
He saw lovers fight and leaders fall
Realms collapse in anarchy and fear
Kings fought over lines on maps
Priests fought over words in holy books
And man? He died by his millions
For no more than false belief
He watched the fires of death below him
Eyes red in reflection and gloating joy
Books burned and even priests
Kings hanged. Innocents screamed in torture
All paid. All went to the reapers cold embrace.
He smiled and even the moon grew paler in pain
Clouds became his ermine
Lightning his holy lance
Sparks and flame were his mantle
As he watched mankind’s death dance
And he gathered up the souls hungrily
Man was generous with those
Supplied plentifully … with stubborn grace
Reveling in death and agony
Although proclaiming peace and love
Their words spoken from twisted blasphemous tongues
And slowly he settled lower in the loveless night sky
He returned to his own domain.
Hell by any other name.
His name was what man wanted it to be
Intolerance, slavery, rape or pain
He was oft quoted in holy text
He had gods a plenty in his reviled name
And so his talons touched scorched anguish of earth
Black leathery wings transmogrified
Opalescent white to greet the souls
And they queued up at his pearly gates
Some burned, some broken on the rack
All clutching dusty holy tracts
Martyrs, murderers and murdered
But priests were few, just followers
Hell bent on self-destruction
Taught to them in godly pews.
Brewed up by the men in black
For their own self-satisfaction.
© 2013 Stan M Rogers. All rights reserved.