This poem started at work when I idly made up the first line while watching the lunar eclipse a few weeks back. It snow-balled and I was creating a new line every day at work for a while, inputting the new lines into a screensaver each day to the general amusement of my co-workers.
Then I went crazy with it and created this insane epic poem. Yes, it rhymes, and yes, I know, that makes it sound sing-songy and goofy. Plus it doesn't flow as naturally as it could because some lines change the way in which you have to say them. I know all this. There's no use telling me what's wrong with it poetically, because I'm well aware of what could make it a better poem.
But this is my outline for my next novel, and I was just wondering if anybody thought it sounded cool. I know I'll get honest answers here, versus people who have to look me in the eye when they criticize my work. So... thanks in advance to anyone who takes the time. It's six MS Word pages long.
EDIT: I forgot to mention that there may be typos that I did not manage to find. If anyone spots any, please let me know.
His Mistake
Staring raptly at the moon, I sense the end is coming soon.
Blackness creeps into its edge, malady its only pledge.
People gather near and far, pointing at the inky mar.
Wild wolves and worried strays let out their fear at strange moon’s rays.
The howling wolves and howling wind refuse to stay or to rescind.
The malign stain, it quickly swells, its darkness cries a deathly knell.
Midnight blue forgets its hue and takes a black and swirling cue.
The end arrives and all is lost, the moon goes dark at our great cost.
One by one the stars blink out, sky matches snuffed while en route.
The witching hour has come at last, the moon is gone, our sorrows cast.
Sulfur smell is thick and wrong, reminds me of a hellish song,
a thousand varied ancient tongues, as acrid burning fills my lungs.
A cackle lifts into the night as wicked demons take their flight.
Hell-beasts sprint among the night, laughing madly at our plight.
They dance and prance and claw and swipe, sowing fear among the ripe.
We try to hide in homes and shops, but walls permit these evil flocks.
They come in droves through brick and stone, ignoring all the earthly bone.
Through holy veils they do invade, religion fails to be our aid.
The demons steal our old ones first: the easy takes to slake their thirst.
We try to rouse the rebels’ chant, to force the demons to recant.
Our fists fall flat against their backs, our guns of steel prove that man lacks.
The tanks lie still upon the ground, the skyward jets drop without sound.
Bio warfare, viral pleas, illegal means fail with ease.
They drink it in, still they come. They find our infirm and our dumb.
Bombs and bullets they deflect, our last hope they can’t reject.
Whistling nukes fall from the skies as demons watch with terrored cries.
Their wicked flesh consumed in fire, the beasts misjudged our craft and ire.
Survivors raise a vict’ry fist, but out crawl demons from the mist.
The mushroom cloud affects them not. They mock us, breathing mushroom rot.
They take us all now, old and young, their fury ripens on their tongues.
If all our weapons and our prayers are ineffective, should we care?
Has Rapture come, our efforts vain? Is there a bright side to our pain?
The demons close on us at last, destroying our last lines too fast.
I close my eyes against the horde as fetid breath consumes my world.
If innocents can find succor, my job is done at old death’s door.
Ice-cold claws grip ‘round my neck, I must not look, keep fear in check.
The tortured screams of fellow men begin to fade as they give in.
My lungs burn with evil breath, it stains my soul before my death.
Hell awaits my heart’s last beat, to signal, sign, and seal defeat.
My consciousness is fading fast, under eyelids flash my past.
They say it does right at the end, I never wondered why ‘til then.
Perhaps the love and joyful tears embolden, strengthen, shield our fears.
It carries us through evil fields, it holds at bay what unknown wields.
As finally my pulse desists, I float away in holy mists.
The endless white is comforting, I feel at home in this drifting.
My soul afloat in all this white gives me pause to see the light
that shines black, but somehow bright, inside of me. I think I might
cast off this malignant stain, send it swirling down Heaven’s drain.
Soon as thought it does just this, retreats my soul, I do not miss.
Now a voice gently caresses from a girl with golden tresses.
She did not simply appear, but faded in to become clear.
“The lunar ‘clipse has come to bear the peaceful night with tears and fear.”
“Why must it happen?” I cry as I lament the millions died.
Heavenly beauty waits patient while I throw my tantrum nascent.
“All this pain and all this sorrow! Do they even have tomorrow?
Where was God in all this mess? How’d it start if He exists?”
Lacking flesh I still feel spent, exhausted, sorry, soul too bent.
Angelic girl in kind replies, “Child, Armageddon arrives.
The Morning Star has taken tithe, his contract broken, tossed aside.
He wages war upon the Earth, intent on souls to swell his mirth.
Billions taken, just like you, converted to an ugly view.
Lucifer will storm the Gates of Heaven with his hordes of hate.”
I did not know how to react to this news of Satan’s pact.
Father of Lies would certain break an oath to He who cast the Lake
of Fire low to hold the wicked, hateful beast in briar thicket.
“What will God do to stop this act?” I ask with hurried, frenzied tact.
“You must go back to halt the feasts, to stop the wicked-turning beasts.
If many more at all succumb, Satan’s armies will have won.”
“But why must I be the one to stop the spread of evil song?
Where are the angels singing high to smite the demons from the sky?”
“We cannot act ‘til ‘clipse is done, our powers pale without the sun.
You will be the powered Man, hold them back as best you can.”
She disappears without a sound, and I awake upon the ground.
The demons are now someplace new, they ferry souls to evil pews.
I feel a sense of wrongness near, but now no longer do I fear.
I concentrate on these new gifts and find I’m there by holy drifts.
The evil ones harry the scared, hundreds chase, never impaired.
I drift between them, stop them cold, they are confused by power old.
They slam together ‘to a wall they cannot see or pass at all.
They cringe and shout and curse and wail, but never do they break my pale.
I know not how I perform these holy feats, but I conform.
Can I save some millions more from all that Satan has in store?
I leave my paling and depart, for parts unknown I must now start.
I emerge in a great park where thousands gather for a lark.
A woman stands against the tides of black forms crushing in all sides.
I drift in next to ebb the flow, surprising her with easing blows.
Soon our paling holds them off. They melt away with cursed coughs.
The woman thanks me with a hug, she says, “This power’s like a drug.”
I ask, “Addicting?” now afraid. “Too much can kill, and then all’s paid.”
We stick together from then on, saving thousands, millions, throngs.
Others like us join our cause, drifting ‘gainst all nat’ral laws.
We watch the sky, hoping soon to see again the silver moon.
Twelve we are when suddenly the sky erupts in bloody sheen.
Satan sends his very best to test his might ‘gainst God’s behest.
Six malicious demons come, their bodies smoking, hellish ruin.
They wield blades of thickest black that beat our palings, push us back.
We drift to safety to regroup, to form a plan to halt this coup.
They find and slay our twelfth divine, he joins the ranks of wicked kind.
We watch the sky in dire hope that He will offer us the rope,
that safety He may grant before our souls become more wicked store.
Still the moon refuses light as Satan builds his army’s might.
If shields of holy crack and break, defense we must no longer take.
But can our gifts disarm the hordes, defeat their evil, flaming swords?
We eleven drift to fates to face our fears ‘fore Hell’s black gates.
We alight atop a hill looking o’er a valley still
as desert night or ocean deep, awaiting all of Satan’s Keep.
They rise up from dirt and stone as we watch, eleven alone.
I say, “Good-bye, my dearest friends,” and we embrace our final ends.
Ethereal brands of molten steel give pause to demons’ calls and jeers.
Our holy blades consume us all. Two we lose, their bodies fall,
but no demonic taint exists to bolster their ranks, that desists.
Showdown starts, nine versus six. We flank their rank, but they’re too quick.
They scatter us as one more’s lost. Eight ‘gainst six, to our great cost,
but fin’lly holy blade strikes true, cleaving wickedness in two.
The five remaining demons balk as now they must do more than talk.
Inspired by companion’s slice, I dare the beasts, I call them mice.
Their ire proves to be their folly as we counter every volley.
I hew the neck of one such fiend, his head flops madly ‘gainst the wind,
his bloody spray attacks my throat, but holy barrier like moat
prevents the taint from spreading out, into my soul it cannot route.
Retreating now the demons say, “Father of Lies, tricks he plays,
lies he tells in actions, too, while you were busy with us few.
He harvested what you should praise, now Heaven’s lost, today we raze!”
They sink into the ground again as our mistakes truly sink in.
Their laughter never seems to fade, and still the moon refuses rays.
My few remaining friends and I, with weakened spirits still do strive
to save the millions left alive in case the wicked beasts did lie.
Our strengths begin to fin’lly flag and drifting starts to feel like drag.
No longer can we summon brands without destroying bodies, lands.
Incessantly they harry us until there are just two of us.
The first to join and last to die, we seek shelter, she and I,
from darkest night and dreaded death, comfort taken from shared breath.
We lack the strength or will to keep up our good works, so we just sleep.
Forever in each other’s arms, or just a moment, nothing harms.
A glint appears up in the sky, a figment, surely, we have died.
The shining sliver is quite there, all shining bright and unaware
of all this night that’s come to pass, it hangs up there like glowing glass.
The terrored wails and shrieking gales recede along with sulfur smells,
and every gleeful, cackling fiend disappears through tainted sheen.
We drift our last to see the ones will live to see another sun,
but few survived this holocaust, this tragic tale of woe and loss.
Exhaustion overwhelms us now as we collapse into mock bows.
We thank God for all the strength He lent to us, though at length.
It seemed to be a little frail when struck against the mighty hail
of Lucifer’s great tempest storm of fear and death and soul-snare thorn.
We pray for the souls we missed, and all our loved ones gently kissed,
who would now be against us all if Satan comes to claim the Wall
of Heaven which must now be shaken at the fear of being taken.
Dawn arrives, we greatly sigh at sun’s relief, and say good-bye.
Misty whiteness all around, she is with me as we’re found
by beauty wearing golden tress, she ferries us to Heaven next.
“I wonder what Heaven is like,” she muses as we float as kites.
I never thought about it much, how Heaven looks upon approach.
“I guess the Pearly Gates thrown wide with angels on clouds floating by,
singing praises of the Lord with harps and haloes, golden chords.
Angels with pristine white wings and golden shifts befitting kings.”
Our guiding girl turns and says, “Heaven is what you least dread,
what you love most and wish to see, but most of all it is a sea
of love and hope and pleasant dreams where nothing harms, nothing deceives.”
“If Heaven is what we least dread, is Hell the paths we fear to tread?”
She nods at us, continues on, resplendent in her Heaven song.
All the hellish things we’ve seen were figments of our wicked dreams,
and every sulfurous inhale was a cliché of demons’ tales.
When stripped of expectation, and fear of death, elation,
how will the hordes of Satan look, no longer referencing the Book?
We reach Heaven and we see a million angels stand sentry.
Holy throngs of Earthly souls defend the walls against Hell’s woes.
Out of golden seas they rise, the hordes of billions lost their lives
to Morning Star’s perverted song of how to live without their God.
Satan’s followers on Earth have ranks of honor, laugh with mirth
at Heaven’s puny host ‘gainst all the wicked, evil fiends in thrall.
Fear and nervousness run free among the hosts of Heaven’s Three.
The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost may not survive this hellish roast.
She and I are bestowed rank and placed along the wall in flank,
and given holy blades to wield as tides of battle sweep the field.
The holy hosts of Heaven hail the wicked, wily worms that wail
their piercing cries throughout the day, silence them the wrathful way,
with steely will and flaming brands, we chant our oath, make our last stand.
They raze the walls and enter fast, Heaven’s end has come at last.
Their numbers overwhelm en masse, our ranks are shattering like glass.
Satan enters Heaven proper, claims the throne for Lying Father.
When hope is lost, the outlook bleak, I slay a fiend with demon beak
and drift anew to find my girl, my heart and soul, my entire world.
I see her back against a wall facing hundreds, slaying all.
Rage and fury guide my blade until in pools of blood I wade.
I reach her side and we fight on, again much stronger arm in arm.
Outside the walls we find ourselves while Satan into Heaven delves.
We slay our way back inside gates, where is our God, why is He late?
Why won’t He fight, stop this mess, intervene at our behest?
“He won’t come, we must defend ‘gainst Morning Star ‘til bitter end!”
I shout at top of holy lungs in all the varied holy tongues,
and every able host of Heav’n heeds the call, assaults the den
that Satan thinks to call his own, to usurp holy crown and throne.
Though our numbers quickly dwindle, we win through, our hopes rekindle.
Lucifer and his best bets, sons of Satan, deadly pets,
hold a wicked vigil here, his chance to win the throne is near.
He sends his pets against us all, but they’re no match for Heaven’s call.
The sons of Satan attack next, their ire holds us all in check
as wicked demons from behind convolute rebellious minds.
Retreat seems our only course, but where to run ‘gainst Devil’s force?
“We stay and fight to the last man to protect our holy land!”
With our last and desperate cries, she and I stop sons of Lies.
Lucifer snarls viciously as we converge incessantly.
Our attacks do not damage the father of dire heritage.
Again, again he thwarts our thrusts, questions where we place our trusts.
“His time is done,” he boasts too soon, “Make thy way for hellish ruin!”
Just as he has thought his win, three of our twelve appear again,
the ones we lost to too much power join us now at final hour.
“Holy paling!” I command as barrier contains the sin
of Satan’s fatalistic coup that only now we can undo.
He stares with humor in his eyes at our last effort, our last try,
but when he tries to break our hold he finds it hard to snap the mold.
The paling closes in on him however hard his raging whim.
He casts a final cursed strike, marking throne of purest white
with blackest soot, never repaired as a reminder of despair.
The Devil shrinks inside his cage until his armies are assuaged,
and victory at last we claim, we send him off in deepest shame.
The five of twelve at last collapse, our duties done, our powers lapse.
God finally intervenes, with swipe of hand He clears the scene.
At once He rights the Devil’s wrongs as angels weep in sorrowed songs.
I find my love upon the ground, she gave her life without a sound.
She stopped the demons here today by drawing deeply, last to pay.
God proclaims the battle won, hard-fought, too hard, battle’s done.
“Where were you when all was lost? Why did she suffer your cost?”
God looks on me, eyes full of pain, “I shall forever bear this stain.
Upon my being it will show that even I do not all know.
Your grief is felt by all now here, they shed the same blood, sweat, and tears.
You and she I favored most, but I cannot bend back my post.
I must not break my natural laws, even though there may be cause.
To bring her back I will not do, but I can also send you through.
If your heart’s desire is your wish, I grant you passage to the mist.
Understand, my son, if you will, the Morning Star’s a poison pill.
He’s mad with grief at being cast into the fiery lake of past.
I mistook his offered hand as repentance of oldest sin.
The war will ever after rage until I free him of his cage,
but true remorse I’ll never see so long as he’s under my sea.
Go now, son, your life awaits, you earned this gift, beyond the gates.”
I drop into a restful sleep and wake in wonder on my feet.
My love is here to guide me now, our service served, I kiss her brow.
We live on forever more, heedless of our past closed door.
Then I went crazy with it and created this insane epic poem. Yes, it rhymes, and yes, I know, that makes it sound sing-songy and goofy. Plus it doesn't flow as naturally as it could because some lines change the way in which you have to say them. I know all this. There's no use telling me what's wrong with it poetically, because I'm well aware of what could make it a better poem.
But this is my outline for my next novel, and I was just wondering if anybody thought it sounded cool. I know I'll get honest answers here, versus people who have to look me in the eye when they criticize my work. So... thanks in advance to anyone who takes the time. It's six MS Word pages long.
EDIT: I forgot to mention that there may be typos that I did not manage to find. If anyone spots any, please let me know.
His Mistake
Staring raptly at the moon, I sense the end is coming soon.
Blackness creeps into its edge, malady its only pledge.
People gather near and far, pointing at the inky mar.
Wild wolves and worried strays let out their fear at strange moon’s rays.
The howling wolves and howling wind refuse to stay or to rescind.
The malign stain, it quickly swells, its darkness cries a deathly knell.
Midnight blue forgets its hue and takes a black and swirling cue.
The end arrives and all is lost, the moon goes dark at our great cost.
One by one the stars blink out, sky matches snuffed while en route.
The witching hour has come at last, the moon is gone, our sorrows cast.
Sulfur smell is thick and wrong, reminds me of a hellish song,
a thousand varied ancient tongues, as acrid burning fills my lungs.
A cackle lifts into the night as wicked demons take their flight.
Hell-beasts sprint among the night, laughing madly at our plight.
They dance and prance and claw and swipe, sowing fear among the ripe.
We try to hide in homes and shops, but walls permit these evil flocks.
They come in droves through brick and stone, ignoring all the earthly bone.
Through holy veils they do invade, religion fails to be our aid.
The demons steal our old ones first: the easy takes to slake their thirst.
We try to rouse the rebels’ chant, to force the demons to recant.
Our fists fall flat against their backs, our guns of steel prove that man lacks.
The tanks lie still upon the ground, the skyward jets drop without sound.
Bio warfare, viral pleas, illegal means fail with ease.
They drink it in, still they come. They find our infirm and our dumb.
Bombs and bullets they deflect, our last hope they can’t reject.
Whistling nukes fall from the skies as demons watch with terrored cries.
Their wicked flesh consumed in fire, the beasts misjudged our craft and ire.
Survivors raise a vict’ry fist, but out crawl demons from the mist.
The mushroom cloud affects them not. They mock us, breathing mushroom rot.
They take us all now, old and young, their fury ripens on their tongues.
If all our weapons and our prayers are ineffective, should we care?
Has Rapture come, our efforts vain? Is there a bright side to our pain?
The demons close on us at last, destroying our last lines too fast.
I close my eyes against the horde as fetid breath consumes my world.
If innocents can find succor, my job is done at old death’s door.
Ice-cold claws grip ‘round my neck, I must not look, keep fear in check.
The tortured screams of fellow men begin to fade as they give in.
My lungs burn with evil breath, it stains my soul before my death.
Hell awaits my heart’s last beat, to signal, sign, and seal defeat.
My consciousness is fading fast, under eyelids flash my past.
They say it does right at the end, I never wondered why ‘til then.
Perhaps the love and joyful tears embolden, strengthen, shield our fears.
It carries us through evil fields, it holds at bay what unknown wields.
As finally my pulse desists, I float away in holy mists.
The endless white is comforting, I feel at home in this drifting.
My soul afloat in all this white gives me pause to see the light
that shines black, but somehow bright, inside of me. I think I might
cast off this malignant stain, send it swirling down Heaven’s drain.
Soon as thought it does just this, retreats my soul, I do not miss.
Now a voice gently caresses from a girl with golden tresses.
She did not simply appear, but faded in to become clear.
“The lunar ‘clipse has come to bear the peaceful night with tears and fear.”
“Why must it happen?” I cry as I lament the millions died.
Heavenly beauty waits patient while I throw my tantrum nascent.
“All this pain and all this sorrow! Do they even have tomorrow?
Where was God in all this mess? How’d it start if He exists?”
Lacking flesh I still feel spent, exhausted, sorry, soul too bent.
Angelic girl in kind replies, “Child, Armageddon arrives.
The Morning Star has taken tithe, his contract broken, tossed aside.
He wages war upon the Earth, intent on souls to swell his mirth.
Billions taken, just like you, converted to an ugly view.
Lucifer will storm the Gates of Heaven with his hordes of hate.”
I did not know how to react to this news of Satan’s pact.
Father of Lies would certain break an oath to He who cast the Lake
of Fire low to hold the wicked, hateful beast in briar thicket.
“What will God do to stop this act?” I ask with hurried, frenzied tact.
“You must go back to halt the feasts, to stop the wicked-turning beasts.
If many more at all succumb, Satan’s armies will have won.”
“But why must I be the one to stop the spread of evil song?
Where are the angels singing high to smite the demons from the sky?”
“We cannot act ‘til ‘clipse is done, our powers pale without the sun.
You will be the powered Man, hold them back as best you can.”
She disappears without a sound, and I awake upon the ground.
The demons are now someplace new, they ferry souls to evil pews.
I feel a sense of wrongness near, but now no longer do I fear.
I concentrate on these new gifts and find I’m there by holy drifts.
The evil ones harry the scared, hundreds chase, never impaired.
I drift between them, stop them cold, they are confused by power old.
They slam together ‘to a wall they cannot see or pass at all.
They cringe and shout and curse and wail, but never do they break my pale.
I know not how I perform these holy feats, but I conform.
Can I save some millions more from all that Satan has in store?
I leave my paling and depart, for parts unknown I must now start.
I emerge in a great park where thousands gather for a lark.
A woman stands against the tides of black forms crushing in all sides.
I drift in next to ebb the flow, surprising her with easing blows.
Soon our paling holds them off. They melt away with cursed coughs.
The woman thanks me with a hug, she says, “This power’s like a drug.”
I ask, “Addicting?” now afraid. “Too much can kill, and then all’s paid.”
We stick together from then on, saving thousands, millions, throngs.
Others like us join our cause, drifting ‘gainst all nat’ral laws.
We watch the sky, hoping soon to see again the silver moon.
Twelve we are when suddenly the sky erupts in bloody sheen.
Satan sends his very best to test his might ‘gainst God’s behest.
Six malicious demons come, their bodies smoking, hellish ruin.
They wield blades of thickest black that beat our palings, push us back.
We drift to safety to regroup, to form a plan to halt this coup.
They find and slay our twelfth divine, he joins the ranks of wicked kind.
We watch the sky in dire hope that He will offer us the rope,
that safety He may grant before our souls become more wicked store.
Still the moon refuses light as Satan builds his army’s might.
If shields of holy crack and break, defense we must no longer take.
But can our gifts disarm the hordes, defeat their evil, flaming swords?
We eleven drift to fates to face our fears ‘fore Hell’s black gates.
We alight atop a hill looking o’er a valley still
as desert night or ocean deep, awaiting all of Satan’s Keep.
They rise up from dirt and stone as we watch, eleven alone.
I say, “Good-bye, my dearest friends,” and we embrace our final ends.
Ethereal brands of molten steel give pause to demons’ calls and jeers.
Our holy blades consume us all. Two we lose, their bodies fall,
but no demonic taint exists to bolster their ranks, that desists.
Showdown starts, nine versus six. We flank their rank, but they’re too quick.
They scatter us as one more’s lost. Eight ‘gainst six, to our great cost,
but fin’lly holy blade strikes true, cleaving wickedness in two.
The five remaining demons balk as now they must do more than talk.
Inspired by companion’s slice, I dare the beasts, I call them mice.
Their ire proves to be their folly as we counter every volley.
I hew the neck of one such fiend, his head flops madly ‘gainst the wind,
his bloody spray attacks my throat, but holy barrier like moat
prevents the taint from spreading out, into my soul it cannot route.
Retreating now the demons say, “Father of Lies, tricks he plays,
lies he tells in actions, too, while you were busy with us few.
He harvested what you should praise, now Heaven’s lost, today we raze!”
They sink into the ground again as our mistakes truly sink in.
Their laughter never seems to fade, and still the moon refuses rays.
My few remaining friends and I, with weakened spirits still do strive
to save the millions left alive in case the wicked beasts did lie.
Our strengths begin to fin’lly flag and drifting starts to feel like drag.
No longer can we summon brands without destroying bodies, lands.
Incessantly they harry us until there are just two of us.
The first to join and last to die, we seek shelter, she and I,
from darkest night and dreaded death, comfort taken from shared breath.
We lack the strength or will to keep up our good works, so we just sleep.
Forever in each other’s arms, or just a moment, nothing harms.
A glint appears up in the sky, a figment, surely, we have died.
The shining sliver is quite there, all shining bright and unaware
of all this night that’s come to pass, it hangs up there like glowing glass.
The terrored wails and shrieking gales recede along with sulfur smells,
and every gleeful, cackling fiend disappears through tainted sheen.
We drift our last to see the ones will live to see another sun,
but few survived this holocaust, this tragic tale of woe and loss.
Exhaustion overwhelms us now as we collapse into mock bows.
We thank God for all the strength He lent to us, though at length.
It seemed to be a little frail when struck against the mighty hail
of Lucifer’s great tempest storm of fear and death and soul-snare thorn.
We pray for the souls we missed, and all our loved ones gently kissed,
who would now be against us all if Satan comes to claim the Wall
of Heaven which must now be shaken at the fear of being taken.
Dawn arrives, we greatly sigh at sun’s relief, and say good-bye.
Misty whiteness all around, she is with me as we’re found
by beauty wearing golden tress, she ferries us to Heaven next.
“I wonder what Heaven is like,” she muses as we float as kites.
I never thought about it much, how Heaven looks upon approach.
“I guess the Pearly Gates thrown wide with angels on clouds floating by,
singing praises of the Lord with harps and haloes, golden chords.
Angels with pristine white wings and golden shifts befitting kings.”
Our guiding girl turns and says, “Heaven is what you least dread,
what you love most and wish to see, but most of all it is a sea
of love and hope and pleasant dreams where nothing harms, nothing deceives.”
“If Heaven is what we least dread, is Hell the paths we fear to tread?”
She nods at us, continues on, resplendent in her Heaven song.
All the hellish things we’ve seen were figments of our wicked dreams,
and every sulfurous inhale was a cliché of demons’ tales.
When stripped of expectation, and fear of death, elation,
how will the hordes of Satan look, no longer referencing the Book?
We reach Heaven and we see a million angels stand sentry.
Holy throngs of Earthly souls defend the walls against Hell’s woes.
Out of golden seas they rise, the hordes of billions lost their lives
to Morning Star’s perverted song of how to live without their God.
Satan’s followers on Earth have ranks of honor, laugh with mirth
at Heaven’s puny host ‘gainst all the wicked, evil fiends in thrall.
Fear and nervousness run free among the hosts of Heaven’s Three.
The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost may not survive this hellish roast.
She and I are bestowed rank and placed along the wall in flank,
and given holy blades to wield as tides of battle sweep the field.
The holy hosts of Heaven hail the wicked, wily worms that wail
their piercing cries throughout the day, silence them the wrathful way,
with steely will and flaming brands, we chant our oath, make our last stand.
They raze the walls and enter fast, Heaven’s end has come at last.
Their numbers overwhelm en masse, our ranks are shattering like glass.
Satan enters Heaven proper, claims the throne for Lying Father.
When hope is lost, the outlook bleak, I slay a fiend with demon beak
and drift anew to find my girl, my heart and soul, my entire world.
I see her back against a wall facing hundreds, slaying all.
Rage and fury guide my blade until in pools of blood I wade.
I reach her side and we fight on, again much stronger arm in arm.
Outside the walls we find ourselves while Satan into Heaven delves.
We slay our way back inside gates, where is our God, why is He late?
Why won’t He fight, stop this mess, intervene at our behest?
“He won’t come, we must defend ‘gainst Morning Star ‘til bitter end!”
I shout at top of holy lungs in all the varied holy tongues,
and every able host of Heav’n heeds the call, assaults the den
that Satan thinks to call his own, to usurp holy crown and throne.
Though our numbers quickly dwindle, we win through, our hopes rekindle.
Lucifer and his best bets, sons of Satan, deadly pets,
hold a wicked vigil here, his chance to win the throne is near.
He sends his pets against us all, but they’re no match for Heaven’s call.
The sons of Satan attack next, their ire holds us all in check
as wicked demons from behind convolute rebellious minds.
Retreat seems our only course, but where to run ‘gainst Devil’s force?
“We stay and fight to the last man to protect our holy land!”
With our last and desperate cries, she and I stop sons of Lies.
Lucifer snarls viciously as we converge incessantly.
Our attacks do not damage the father of dire heritage.
Again, again he thwarts our thrusts, questions where we place our trusts.
“His time is done,” he boasts too soon, “Make thy way for hellish ruin!”
Just as he has thought his win, three of our twelve appear again,
the ones we lost to too much power join us now at final hour.
“Holy paling!” I command as barrier contains the sin
of Satan’s fatalistic coup that only now we can undo.
He stares with humor in his eyes at our last effort, our last try,
but when he tries to break our hold he finds it hard to snap the mold.
The paling closes in on him however hard his raging whim.
He casts a final cursed strike, marking throne of purest white
with blackest soot, never repaired as a reminder of despair.
The Devil shrinks inside his cage until his armies are assuaged,
and victory at last we claim, we send him off in deepest shame.
The five of twelve at last collapse, our duties done, our powers lapse.
God finally intervenes, with swipe of hand He clears the scene.
At once He rights the Devil’s wrongs as angels weep in sorrowed songs.
I find my love upon the ground, she gave her life without a sound.
She stopped the demons here today by drawing deeply, last to pay.
God proclaims the battle won, hard-fought, too hard, battle’s done.
“Where were you when all was lost? Why did she suffer your cost?”
God looks on me, eyes full of pain, “I shall forever bear this stain.
Upon my being it will show that even I do not all know.
Your grief is felt by all now here, they shed the same blood, sweat, and tears.
You and she I favored most, but I cannot bend back my post.
I must not break my natural laws, even though there may be cause.
To bring her back I will not do, but I can also send you through.
If your heart’s desire is your wish, I grant you passage to the mist.
Understand, my son, if you will, the Morning Star’s a poison pill.
He’s mad with grief at being cast into the fiery lake of past.
I mistook his offered hand as repentance of oldest sin.
The war will ever after rage until I free him of his cage,
but true remorse I’ll never see so long as he’s under my sea.
Go now, son, your life awaits, you earned this gift, beyond the gates.”
I drop into a restful sleep and wake in wonder on my feet.
My love is here to guide me now, our service served, I kiss her brow.
We live on forever more, heedless of our past closed door.
Comment