Satan’s Soliloquy
So it is thus. My Hate, that I am henceforth curs’d to turn into Love. Such that fills to my brim, that consumes within, thence which I dwell to diminish unto. Unto the lake that does burn so and discards me, dazed and bitter I remain.
And it is He. He that love to gaze on my hate and torment. He that in His feign’d lack of might caused this to become my reality. Induced th’ revolte that revolts to my core of now sour abyss. His self-inflict’d vengeance promotes our retaliat’d vengeance. In His ferocious wrath from our spell of disobedience from tyranny spurs this, the curse of which I can now deem my existence. After serving: I am serv’d this army of speechless serpentine servants. Post fealtie to God: a descent from prior elevation to latter degradation and contemporary bestial slime. O indignitie! Eject’d at the feet of a flaming chariot to be reject’d at the hinges secur’d by a flaming sword.
His jealousy. From our ambition. An ambition of libertie, spawn’d from He who imprison’d. And of His spawn. Almightie creation that we art so encourag’d to envie. Spawn, Man of Clay that is so to better our own. Created for His entertainment and for our wounds to entertain His salty malicious medicine. But no product of clay ever was set to be display’d in such a dwelling. For thee, thou receives His sensitivity.
And thee, thou art permitt’d to remain in His tranquillity. Of such overwhelming beautie it oft doth bring the coldest soul to tears of joy. Ergo witness His pleasure in omnipotence. That I am fill’d with nought but tears that sting this creature into near regret. Son of despite. O how His imps love! Without thought nor question. Without strife nor concern. The contempt felt from their content. I reck not.
The choice. A forke in the road that crawls, nay, dissolves into a slither of our tongue, which will whisper our contempt and inject our poison into their content. Pandemonium lays our strength, this pastoral palace is wherein it is stripp’d and smote to the hem of a level of peace and glorie we can never again wind our coils of non-consensual poison upon. Repentance doth mock us. An impossibility. But through His choice of resent now advances our ambition of inevitable action. His six Creative steps held witness to our one stamp of destruction. Belov’d clay so justly wash’d asunder. To mutate from Man of Clay, innovative Favorite Of Heav’n, to Man of Bane, the spawn of scorne.
O ambition precedes justification! Rising from ashes of defeat that we art dealt such shame. The shame of unjust as it is He who should succumb to our shame. Deteste, Revulsion, Abhorrence, we bear refuge to thee. Now thou shall meet thine maker. Thine Creator. O the joy we art rewarded! For through the Creation of the Almightie bring the Creation of our Hate, that we Love. For through destruction that springs from my Hate, comes my Love sprung from my destruction. He must worke to Love, I must have Him worke, to provide the prospect to marr, joynd to thence provide the chance to Love. My Hate, that I am henceforth curs’d to turn into Love. So it is thus.
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