Anyone a Fan of...Satan?

I had just died when I felt wings where my shoulders once sloped. Such a majesty, I thought, to leave behind the earthly beings and their trinkets of things. Possessions and bank accounts as a marker in the sand, to represent their accomplishments and justifications of existence. Presuming the whole creation was created in a day....As if savings save.

I plucked a gold coin from my vest. Not causeless, but perhaps impious, I shall endure whatever may come down my twisted path of lonliness. As my long curls are lined with silk and gold thread, my fingers embraced by rings of engagement and shotgunned weddings...My lips masked with the finest cake of Versaille, and my feet fit in the best leather of Milan. If only the mind could be kept at peace by such lapses of budget and mind.

But the cold caress of the hands of God, down my spine, her faint touch upon vertabre cast the sparkle of wealth into the well. The lack of vigor in my eyes, and the way faces had turned away and sneered at my laughter elicit the only response I have known since they tried to drown me at birth. Father, his course beard pushing all those away-- Nothing but strife for wealth in his eyes. Ancient. Thou can not kill what is already within. Fools.

To leave behind the earth, and to join a place no one knows but where everyone goes. And then to return again, speaking of the virtuous fire. My majesty, who work does reign but whose voice turns away the profane. Lamenting the loss of the small things; the way the sky would set upon a summer sun would never grace my eyes again. Never again to brush hands grasping for blankets on a December night, in defiance of the winter wind while your hair graced my sight. Merely markings from my past, nothing but states which could never last. What would we be if the happiness always sustained? Poets fashioning war upon the stains of fading haze.

The agony of earth-born emptiness. How I craved to leave a place I loved so well, to taste of the fruit of disobedience whose taste brought woe and pain into our world. To scorn the Holy Spirit, and to prefer those dark eyed light haired temptations--so pure-- to embrace Him who laughed at the Mother of Creation, and her pride. And to revert to such covert guile, and deceive her with his aspiring ambitious peers in an attempt at her vain crown of power.

And so I did.

Spat in the sheperd's eye, who's teachings fell on deaf ears of stone who've tasted of the fruit and seen the light of night, the coldness of winter when not even your touch brings warmth to the bed. Free from the slavery of ignorance, and the bondage of the unclean, I finally was granted a chance to spread my wings.

I recall the last warmth of the sun. A western glow feeding me one last time, before I bid the infernal serpent, whose tongue of hate and revenge stirred the powers of the great Mother of Mankind, and cast us from heaven. Set in glory, above our archangel of peers, came the cold. Looking into the darkness of water, and knowing how cold it was, like me, I could see the distance in my eyes--headlong with ambition, equaling Her whom is most high. Against the Throne and Monarchy of God.

How I wished those blackened waters to be bluish green, alive with heat, light and dance. Just to see the sun set once more upon the sea. Knowing I never would again, chilled me to right now and whatever I am doing.

Instead, reserved to wrath, I thought of the lost happiness and lasting pain, my bafeful eyes twitching at the affliction and lasting hate. A setting sun upon my gaze, a furnace whose flames show no light but only darkness visible, blackened sights of woe, regions of sorrow, and cries from the past, "Hope never comes..."

Cheers,
Nick