Poetry With A Mission

...a thought provoking poetical exercise.

Fictional, Yet, Factual

Slamming the door shut behind him, Satan charged into the room,
His manner icy as usual, and oozing doom and gloom.
He strutted back and forth in front of his villainous mates
Ranting and raving. “I’ve had enough, such infuriates!”

Evil had taken its toll, and hatred burned in his eyes;
He was under pressure, had End-time plans to finalize.
He thrust his shoulders back, locked his arms, and scowled as he spoke,
Relishing unveiling another evil master-stroke.

“I am so angry,” he roared, “I want an all-out assault,
I don’t want God getting more glory -- it’s ME they should exalt.
I’ve had it up to here,” he said, hand brushing past his chin,
“So I’ve got a plan, and here’s the low-down; this’ll make you grin.”

“I want MY things, MY ways, installed in their churches, okay?
And as soon as possible — in other words, yesterday.
Yes, I want those churches rocking -- literally, that is,
But also to a beat that’s wholly mine, not wholly His.”

“Start off nice and easy — a little here, a little there,
That’s right, lads, kind of subtle like — otherwise, you may scare.
Introduce things slowly, gently, and then up the anti
As soon as there’s acceptance, a ruling majority.”

“Take away that reverence that their Saviour wants to see,
Replace it with babble and laughter more appealing to me.
Make churches entertaining, elevate feelings, not minds,
Till you’ve blurred beyond recognition God’s demarcation lines.”

Amidst his verbal tirade he paused momentarily,
And with loathing in his eyes glanced from town to city.
“Look!” he bellowed, pointing his accusing finger madly,
“Wherever you cast your eyes, Christian churches you can see.”

“They’re a constant reminder to the whole community,
They stand out like a sore thumb — I want them gone, rapidly.
Get folk worshipping in halls, warehouses, any odd place,
But not in churches — they’re too symbolic — a slap in my face.”

“And you will help bring this about via the former — that is,
By introducing MY things, My ways — thereby displacing His.
In time they will treat a church just like any other place,
Which, as you can see, devoted comrades, will help my case.”

“It’s good Christians are dressing down for church — such pleases me,
For it conveys that they’re hardly meeting with royalty.
I like that,” he continued sneeringly, “It aids my plans,
Such casualness, disrespect, plays right into my hands.”

“I don’t want Christianity taken seriously,
Nor the One that they worship, for I alone am worthy.
Yes, He kicked me out of Heaven, robbing me of glory,
So, I’ve a score to settle — big time, End-time — end of story.”

And with that, he turned on his heels, charging back out the door,
Anger still blazing in his eyes, teeth clenched, cemented jaw.
Yet, he could still be heard venting his spleen down a corridor
Leading to a court, and a Judge, that he’ll soon stand before.

By Lance Landall