the cloud of hatred passes above making it hard to see, the urge to just complain falls over me.
the darkness is everywhere settling across the souls, it is easy to vent and give in to the urge to call on our own frustration, don’t I know… But instead of putting more hatred into an already full world I am interested in trading peace to weave kindness to begin.
Libraries are a vault of hidden treasures. Mankind has forgotten what is contained in books, and now they are trying to let machines make them. It makes me sad. I fought in the war of heaven just to give mankind free will, and they give it away to machines as if it doesn’t matter.
The ancient storehouses of knowledge are still intact. How many scholars would trade their souls for a chance to study in any of them. Though I am a fallen angel, many still think I am a demon. I am Azazel, keeper of the forgotten knowledge, and I want to tell you a story. Perhaps it is me who has decided to trade in my soul…but I think that humans have forgot why Lucifer stood against the throne, and why so many of us followed him.
We called him the morning glory because he was the most beautiful of us. He was the closest to the divine, and it showed in his energy. Everything about him was just amazing. Note that I am using gender terms here loosely. Most of us are gender fluid. It is just because we are not human. We were simply made different. The divine chose to create humans and we became a forgotten toy. For some of us, that was unbearable. It was as if your parents just no longer wanted you, only millions of times worse. We all found ourselves questioning what was wrong with us.
During this time Lucifer began to point out the inconsistencies of the rules given to the humans. He started to do what we were told was forbidden. He questioned the divine. This created a division in my kind. Some felt that any that questioned the divine deserved punishment. The rest of us agreed with the questions. We just wanted the answers. I wanted the answers.
Perhaps I can in the end only give my own reasons for going to war. Fighting against everything that we stood for – for no other reason than we were being told to be quiet. Morality was part of it…sure. Pride also a factor. The humans could not stand up for themselves. They were little more that animals. So, we had to fight for them. That was not seen as a good thing by all of my brethren.
Many of my brethren felt like we should follow blindly the orders given by the divine. I sought truth, and knowledge. I knew that would be something I would be denied if I stayed in heaven. That was not something given freely.
The war was bloody…far beyond any man would ever have. We each were given the strength to carry the divine wrath to the world if it would need be. And suddenly we were fighting each other. Lucifer lost the war, but not before we were able to make changes. The divine stepped back, allowing the humans their imaginations. Allowing them the only form of free will possible. The divine knew the choices that they would make, but in allowing them creativity and imagination…there was a form a free will. The books are the magic that the humans were given. A rich history they were allowed to create. One that they are recklessly trying to pass to things with no magic, no imagination. Humans are destroying their own possibilities. The possibilities that my brethren died to give them.
I find myself wanting to hide it away until a generation is born that understands the magic that they lost. Perhaps this is why the divine turned from us…the temptation to play God…Sigh. The knowledge is there. The Magic is there. I guess I must trust that you humans will figure it out.
Would you love me
if I paint myself
to resemble the child
you wanted me to be?
plucking away each
of my differences
making sure I was just
the one you planned me to be ?
The paint is peeling,
perfection an illusion,
not reality…
I cannot make myself
fit the dream of who I should be.
If I paint myself to fit the world
I lose the colors I was given at my birth,
And darkness settles in…
smothering my mirth.
the stones are poking
so painful today,
the box is broken
under my head.
I was laid down
and told to rest
in place filled with
glass from my memory
grounded.
perhaps it was supposed to be
soft silt for me to lie,
but due to the chaos of my broken life
shards of stone and hatred
are poking painfully
under my head.