The Journey To Hell – 11

Methinks, dear Lucifer, we go in circles
We talk and talk and talk, and my head is heavy
We do not move beyond the general fuzz
There is no specific, there’s only a buzz
What do you say, why do you bray?
My heart is singing, please start at the beginning.”

“The beginning?”, asked Lucifer, “That is a long story
It was deep in the mists of time, I started my journey.
Some think I was an angel, that I was close to God,
That I was jealous of his little brood, when I was good.
I challenged his wisdom, I did not like his book.
From Father to Son, you cannot build an empire
I refused to bow to the son he chose to sire.”

“This is one story, there are many more
Some are filled with blood, others filled with gore.
The stories you hear are not all the same
To the tellers of the stories, it is often a game.
Some speak of Adam and of Eve. They tell of the apple
They think I am a snake.”

“Others speak of Demons, and also of Gods
And of the time they worked, to defy all the odds
They both dreamed of life that was eternal
They churned the waters that seemed to be infernal.
They sought the nectar to make them immortal
The Gods, at last, cheated and claimed we are now immortal.”

“So, pretty wench, I must as you a question?
Which story do you go for? Which one do you like?
Do you see that the choice is not all that easy,
When you seek the truth, it can make your soul queasy.
So, let us talk of beginnings, let us talk of our journeys
Let us entertain ourselves, with our little stories.”

4 Comments

  1. Everyone has a side to tell.
    Lucifer took off his heavy red cloak as it draped over your chair, the wrinkles snapping as it landed. He wiped off a thick bead of sweat off his red as a firetruck face, and smiled a large inviting smile as someone who has had generations of stories to tell, and someone you would invite over for rolls and turkey gravy. His large white teeth gleaning.
    As he sat and rolled his pitchfork around in his hands, back and forth back and forth, feeling the cool metal, and it tinking against the chair, he looked at me, his brown eyes large puddles and I found myself looking into them and being sent back into other times as he spoke, spoke of worlds I had never heard of and could not fathom. And grand halls, and dukes and great groups of angels in the hundreds and the crusades. And at times he stopped to ponder over something he had said. I just listened handing him a water and letting the ice cubes in mine slosh back and forth, and slowly melt into the water too.

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