The Revolt Poem by Agatha Eliza

there were far away dreams, whispered by cold silver voices of night
when neither the worlds was brought to life, nor fatality's fright
were known; the earth was empty, and angels knew nothing of death
or of existence's ashes, or of the brightness of gifted path
when voiceless, they all obbeyed him without being taught
of a temptation that lurks behind a moment of reason.
unending burning bridges were crossed for treason
until they met the sacre hands of forgiveness.
these angels descovered a damaging weakness
and began to perceive essential darkness
tasting from the chalice of holy power
as preparing for the longed for hour
with armies made of daring angels
and swords rised up in spirals
by tremoulous winds of sins
at life's precious ruins.

while above their cloudless camps, only sharp wings of ravens flutter,
and holy wrathful revenge, through their menacing croaks is uttered
when infernal arcane awaits for them to be threw inside, tortured
with slaughtered wings, hpes, and the story of a riot forgotten.
now, the brilliance, gentle colours crowning their faces fade
as from the bottom of the pit, deprived of solar serenade
with tearfull eyes, and hands surrounded by the flames,
astonishingly it's the rancid existence they taste
of godless earthly creatures fallen from grace
condemned to turn Eden into an empty place
too proud, won't show any trace of regret
and desires grow, breaking their chest
but still they riot when they love
despising everything from above
all that is divine and pure
as their riot's failure.