Change a devil if you dare
remove their horns from the head
point to the heavens where you came from
this is the fantasy few will find
how many angels must attempt
the transformation of the bad
when the saviors are destroyed
stacked on high like cordwood?
a legion lost in this attempt
heaven is emptied in the attempt
still the devil asks for more
to serve the purpose that's two fold
the truest sport absolves the pain
submission granted and then consumed
all for the chance that something will take
nudge the demon to accept wings
horns regrow while bodies bleed
a fiend suggesting salvation's fruit
it's a process that may succeed
supplicants feeding every need
look to the pile that results
all the past head ornaments
with room left for many more
while the devil waits to be saved.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.20181201.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem