Frozen in the heart of a factory--
in the hidden atrium within it.
My eyes look at spidery graffiti
which populates the darkened, crumbling walls.
Old skulls on conveyor belts grin at me
and bones collect dust on the concrete floor.
Time cards adorn a board on a far wall
and the air is cold, stale, rank and dusty.
Who is the owner of this dismal place
where once people gave their lives to labor?
The question is answered by more silence
which hovers over my trembling body.
I look at the bones scattered on the floor--
bones of men whose souls had abandoned Time.
To what destination did they go to,
those caught in the gears of Time's factory?
Spiderwebs adorn a machine's entrance
and spiders--frozen--adorn the old webs.
Frost drips from fragile legs that barely stand,
encasing the symptoms of Time that died.
I try to move myself, slowly at first.
To move an inch requires much effort.
My eyes gaze upon a dead exit sign
and then I slowly make my way toward it.
I stumble over hoses, bones, and wires--
artifacts of once-thriving industry.
I barely push against the unlocked door
and it falls off its hinges to the floor.
Outside, pools of magma fester in fields--
perpetually hot from some dark source.
I walk through a gutted parking lot
filled with burned out, half-melted vehicles.
I reach a check-point with a broken gate.
A skeleton sits inside the structure.
I stroll past it into a crack-strewn street
and nearly fall in an open manhole.
Reaching a cliff's edge I stop and gaze upon
the fields of the damned in constant torment.
I hear their cries waft up into the air
and coalesce in a horrific din.
Immortal flesh in a fiery orange lake
burns forever in a black naked mass.
Their inconsolable, endless wailing
is offered up as justice to Heaven.
I walk back toward the factory's shadow
and stumble through the cracked, carless roadway,
past the kiosk with the dead skeleton,
and through the parking lot with burned-out cars.
I reach the door and enter the building
and make my way back to a folding chair.
This is my frozen throne, the heart of Hell.
This, my Hell, the place of eternal cold.
Here I freeze as I send fiery yearnings
to inflict damage on God's holy ones.
Unspeakable lusts afflict their desires
as I try to corrupt their lives and souls.
Many people wonder why I do this
and the answer is quite simple, you see.
I know that I can not possibly win,
so I try to destroy all that I can
I send out the fire to consume their souls,
leaving my place colder than my dead heart.
I freeze on my pathetic folding chair
laughing bitterly at every soul Hell gains.
I torture them mercilessly in fire,
pretending with each that I've beaten God.
Walking upstairs to a mezzanine
I open a battered metallic door...
And walk out onto a small balcony
I gaze at the pearly gates of Heaven
"There," I said," "is where I once knew God's bliss."
Irrevocable was my fall from Grace.
For I knew my action's consequences.
To rebel, as an Angel, against God
meant Eternal damnation in torment.
"Why did I do it?" you may ask of me...
...as many souls I've tortured have wondered.
I had bliss, but no freedom to speak of,
I was a servant, a slave, I thought then.
I desired to rise above my master.
To break away from God's holy thrall
was the desire that consumed me always
I wished to place myself above His throne
and triumph over my own Creator.
All the time I'd brood over my station
and jealousy filled me throughout the days.
Enraged, I gathered near choirs of angels
and convinced them to turn against our God.
This was not the greatest of ideas,
for God was all-knowing and powerful.
The ground and sky then disappeared from us
and we found ourselves in a blazing fire!
So this is the dread fiery realm of Hell.
Due to Dante's literary conceit
I was placed by God in a frozen patch
where my throne is constantly icy cold.
What the souls here would give to feel cold ice!
But here ice does not ever melt away
and the fires that torment the damned aren't quenched,
Such a terrible fate to suffer here!
Then I turned and quit the scenic vista
that could be seen from that small balcony.
The light of God seen in Heaven was gone
and I was back in the dull, frozen place.
Such a ridiculous throne I sat on!
A folding chair, made of wood and metal.
I sat, suffering, upon it's cold seat
and half-heartedly summoned Belphegor.
I said, "Lord of Sloth, you see this place here
this factory abandoned like on Earth,
where no workers walk its rank corridors
and the work machines collect dust and rust."
"Consolidate for me men's devices into one.
This will cause factories to be needless.
For one device will create the many
and men will rest on their laurels in sloth."
Belphegor said, "Master, this I shall do.
Ingenious devices I shall devise!
Artificial intelligence shall rule
these consolidated machines on Earth!"
I said, "Do this and blot out the humans--
lazy creatures that they have now become--
and watch their desire to ease their own lives
become a dark curse that destroys them all."
Belphegor said, "Satan, this I shall do."
This evil task I shall now accomplish,
sowing discord among all the humans
as all shall soon find themselves unemployed!"
"Excellent," I said, and then shooed him off.
Often I did things like what you just read,
sending demons off to the tortured Earth,
devising this or that scheme for Evil.
From my pathetic throne I had power
to conjure up all the demons in Hell.
They were bound to do my bidding always,
even though they mostly did despise me.
So do any of you want to serve me?
Me on my cold, old folding chair of ice?
How low I have become in this squallor!
Would you like to be made even lower?
For I am fallen, fallen from high above!
Yes, my mouth has uttered perversity
and my hands are defiled with righteous blood
Who among you would like to join my Hell?