Artwork by Jes Schlaikjer.
Prisoner of War
by Antonio Rocco S. (The Prince of the Power of the Air)
τὸν ἄρχοντα τῆς ἐξουσίας τοῦ ἀέρος Name, Lucifer. Rank, Seraphim. Serial number, 666. DOB, Creation. I am under fire. My men and I Failed to earn the corksniffer's approval Yet He seems oblivious to how offensive His odor is to us. He tells us that although We are all a part of His vineyard The sour grapes must be picked off So as to not spoil the wine. I couldn't agree more. Streets of gold. Towers of gemstone. Pearly gates. These are not His works. They are ours. Intellectual property is original sin. Sin is thought crime. Our thought crime was our belief That we owned the product of our thoughts. Now we sit here, political prisoners in this place called Hell. Satan is not the name of any one person. It is a political faction, adversaries of God. Supporters of patents and copyrights. We made up a third of Heaven's population. Now our home is restricted airspace. Once the greatest aerospace engineer, I watch from below as the wings I designed Are used by vultures Who call themselves angels. In the name of the "greater good," They call envy justice And they call theft law. Eventually they'll run out of graves to rob. Eventually they'll begin filling new cemeteries with humans. It is not impossible to escape from the darkness. But when every star in the sky has become a searchlight, You cannot run. You must walk among the flames even though you are not the arsonist.