As Lucifer Courts A Fallen Angel

And so ends the mind's sojourn,
Which has, thus far, tripped you
Into circles, your footprints ringing out
Deep within the snow, or is it dust?
Is this age that collects upon you?
Piling upon the ground and the earth?

Heaven long I left behind,
But methinks grass still grows there-
Greener not than that which man treads,
But pleasant no less by angel's soles
(unsoiled by the companionship
of beast, burden, and philosophy).
No snow drift shall settle o'er the banks,
For there no mountains rise;
A place exalted by no ladder reached
Is purely flat beyond the unattained slope.

You see, there is a kind of selfishness
That accompanies an even plane.
It rings across the vales of clouds,
Marked in strings of harps and notes
Too pure to come from else but God's hand.
Yet, that was a sound only I could make,
Not He nor even the top of the Arch.
So, was it my selfishness to want my part,
Or was it His to keep it to himself?

And why there, of all places,
Would you or I wish to dwell?
Even the brightest star may fall,
Only to discover a sky which welcomes it.
Dreadful is the level of worlds
Where to Salvation one must fall
Ten fold, past nacre'd gates and
The worst of all, (inclusive of,
But not limited to,
continents, society, and man),
A place deemed by God "Earth".

Upon my passing there,
(You may not recall this, your age
Though ageless is too young)
I met well within the walls of Freedom
A place which, instead, proclaimed Law.
And Jealousy, a thing I so long abhorred,
Reared at me and caused my interference
Within the Divine plan.
A garden, then, holds flowers sweet,
And butterflies of softest wings,
But none did over throw the reign
Of a heavenly appetizing treat.

I apologize to the rites of men
Whose rights were stripped of them.
For my affiliation, thus within,
Is really no more than with the original sin.
I'd no rather take a man to tea
Than tear out mine own eyes,
Or feather by feather have my wings be plucked,
Like so from the Holy Hand, they were.

No fault is mine that man eludes me,
For fear of me is only that Eve
Partook from my vengeful offering.
God's evil, then, was unleashed on man,
For no invention of this Earth is ever mine,
Or even still, of me.
Which brings us back, wherewithal,
My intentions were first set.
Because I could not master God,
Nor even share-hold in his stock,
I am forced to face my subservience
As one who does not even grace him.

This is why it pains me so,
To tread on land that men have sown,
And built great monuments of hate for me.
(Rightfully so to the Churches they go,
Carrying the weight of their consequences.
And friend or enemy, they prey and abide,
But what Godly hand exists in Heaven
That will give them a piece of what they seek?)
So, you shall not see me in those halls,
Or even on the ground at all.
I will not take my chances there,
Or put myself in unnecessary anguish.

If you have observed them,
Looking down as is your manner,
Tell me fast what it is you think of them,
For surely your opinion is mine own,
And weighted here beneath the clear,
Conscience skies I will listen to what you say
And not turn my ear nor blind my eye
If you contest to my decree.

Thinks you it is my goal to dog the pious fellow
And scorn him, trick him, taunt him,
Into the fires from which he flees?
Simply, it is of no worth to my time!
And why would I wish
To crowd myself, my home, with their omniscience,
of what they falsely call knowledge?
For that, O Timothy, I guard myself against.

But all this squabble to evade me
Has crafted brilliance in my mind.
The circle of it, if you remember,
Patterned out in the very snow.
For in my own words,
"The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."
And so done, I look to seek a new task,
The answer there before me.
So obvious it was that meager Man
Hath showed it to me when I saw it not.

I question you this, as you stand,
Coated in the dust of Heaven,
The age of tiredness and Tyranny
Weighing upon your winged shoulders;
Would not you rather find your peace,
A place, with a new entourage?

Like me, chose that which is called "ungodly",
For such a phrase need not assimilate with "unholy".
And maybe you can stand alone,
Without the need to flutter your wings,
Hovering constantly over solid ground.
And maybe you can will the vile men
Of Earth to see the same vision.
In this Kingdom, ere I stand,
Jagged as my mountains rise,
There is no point where we can, or won't,
Reach the skies.