1 min readDec 28, 2023
Christ Healing the Blind (ca. 1620) by David Vinckboons (Dutch, 1576–1629)

Asmodeus and Lucifer be lurking in the shadows

feasting upon my flaws and corruptness

as vultures battling for a piece of dead meat.

Such is my nature in those moments.

Dark; void of life.

In an amalgamation of shadow and strife

devoid of any light emitted by the sun

or divinity itself,

I lay dormant in the cold abyssness of Tartarus.

Though I fret not,

for Charon granted me free passage

over the river Styx.

Hades be grinding his sharp teeth

in anger and envy of my passion for life.

And in life I trust and I breathe.

I breathe the sun

in search of light and growth.

For, even in my darkest hour

Archangel Michael does not leave my side,

only covering my soul with his golden wings

and his shining armor of Godhood.

Even if those daemoniums throw their arrows,

or shout in anger and hunger of their emptiness

I do not cower nor fret.

Through the illumination of grandeur purposes

I stand proud.

Knowing that demons reach only those who search for their fugures.