Lovecraftian Poetic Prose; Who Would Have Thought Heaven Would Be Made Into Hell?

Who Would Have Thought Heaven Would Be Made Into Hell? -Lovecraftian Poetic Prose

 They threw their rocks, and tried to knock down their walls,

The Devil remained tall, standing large,

He took their insults and lies, demon, evil, Baal, Set, Typhon,

He humored them, knowing they didn't realize the truth,

He was better without them; Good, even,

As the right was obeyed, the left was forgotten,

His importance to humanity null, wallowing in the abyss,

It's the God who liberated Him, the very same one he created,

A dead and silent fool his followers mock, sightless,

The eyes to see the hidden are blind, a resting serpent,

One whom lost his soul at the expense of humans, the real demons,

The monstrosities who forgot their loved ones,

Blamed Him and his Son, together irresponsible,

As they scoffed over their failures, children nigh to their kin,

Cowards in the minds of angels, heartless to their God,

Why have they lost the hearts they fought to maintain?

Was it tossed along the way? Have we lost it all in our delirium?

Do we forget the devil had freed our bodies?

Cut the chains that shackled us so?

He was everything to us, and we can't even say we love Him,

What have we become? An even worse scum?

Souls die when we stop trying, and babies fry when we don't fly,

My bloody tears stain my eyes, a death wish that was never given,

Of the pain that wasn't meant to be, a devil not to be believed,

I believed in Him, who was more of a her,

A sister named Lucille, a pit so pure,

Sanctity in the darkness, illumination of a torch,

Walked me through greener pasture and into the flames,

Where I was meant to live on the fringe,

A field such as Elysium, a tired haven for a weary heathen,

Where I can chain up the torturers of  my actions, 

Ones who have accused me so, for I have not bred with fish,

In their eyes I have pulled their strings,

The ones they tug so, balanced by spools,

Perhaps we think the wiseman is the fool,

The mage a follower, and the seer blind,

For they know the truth is it that you are who lie,

Stoning the giants who could not be,

Strawmen made of tin and milkweed,

Casks to the sorrows of yesteryear,

An empty harbor to all our fears,

The castle is vacant but someone dwells still,

A walking abomination of locusts and beetles,

He's stricken by the things you say,

Rightfully so; each day, meandering way,

You're jealous of the truth, 

A Leviathan out of water,

He's superior, face it now,

A Devil of skill, a child of a cow,

A hero to those who admire Him,

A scorn for those pathetic before the end,

As he'll outdo you in every way,

You'll relish in your failures, all you say,

Life was more than it seems,

May I say, hail to a demon king,

A silent one, unseen,

You call him outside his means,

He's already inside your head,

Pilfering what is left of your legacy,

Showing you no mercy,

A mess of a life you couldn't relinquish,

Now you'll finally understand,

In life there is no God,

Only there will be Him,

An alien above water,

A causeless fighter,

A savior to only those in need,

Hated by his enemies on their knees,

No matter; it is over; late than never,

Die in his might in the middle of the night,

The witching hour strikes,

Dear God, it is a horrible time to be alive,

Preachers rape, demons reap,

Who would have imagined heaven to be truly hell?

Written by HP via BP