Hell Awakens

Part I

Two fallen angels got to talking
lamenting their ill gotten gains
you'd find some of their banter shocking
heed as Beelzebub explains:
"What was the point of our damnation?
I do despair, our demon nation
seems lately to revert to mean
they do good deeds such that they're seen!"
Exasperated, breathing sulfur,
he then went on: "Lord Of The Flies!
That's what I am. Your alibis,
your virtue, that's what I rebelled for?
The right of evil to fight good
is what, you misbegotten brood!"

Here Mammon nodded, sympathetic.
"Your Virulence, that was our fight!
Their new found virtue is pathetic,
as if they think that right makes might.
I needn't tell you, our recruiting
has but collapsed, and though I'm rooting
for a return to evil deeds
we're running short of demon seeds."
He shook his head, his horns uncovered
and added: "ah, that sulfur stench
those were the days, when any wench
would welcome a demonic lover...
Now I'm on Tinder, swipe and swipe
but keep on getting "not my type".

"I know", Beelzebub acknowledged,
shooing away a pesky gnat.
"It started when they went to college,
I should have never paid for that!
These baccalaureates are strident,
wish I could swear by Neptune's trident,
but as you know, I can't bring with
as he is from another myth.
The fact remains though: evil doers
are focused now on doing good.
Don't even start on Hollywood!
They only care about reviewers,
lack of offense their best defense...
They must believe that we are dense."

"What's to be done, then, Lord and Damner?"
asked Mammon, fire in his eyes.
We soon approach the height of summer,
perhaps a virgin sacrifice?"
"No, no" the Devil interjecting
gave no pretense before rejecting
the notion, top of Mammon's mind...
"For one, a virgin's hard to find.
No, we will have to think about it.
But I suspect we need to plumb
the depths of Hell, or we'll succumb
to this malaise, I do not doubt it.
These demons woke, they'll make us us weep.
We must put Hell right back to sleep!"

Part II

"Your Decadence, their good intentions",
said Mammon, seeming to agree,
"paved not with cobblestones, but mentions,
TikTok and Instagram -- for free!
It's truly difficult to filter
without throwing out of kilter
the rest of our demonic plan
I'd hate to dump it, like some 'Stan..."
Lord Beelzebub replied, sardonic
and with his usual panache
"No worries, we shall have the cash.
Don't hyperventilate.  Your panic,
does not befit your hellish rank.
Now, act the part. Or else, Your Stank!"

Faced with this stern an admonition,
old Mammon swallowed his retort.
The Devil, knowing his ambition,
pressed the advantage. Oh, what sport!
"The shock troops, from the Seventh Circle..."
"Your Pestilence!  We don't have Merkel!
She's gone now that her work is done.
Her, and the one that was The One."
Thus Mammon spoke.  The risk of censure
was palpable, but demons dare.
The fallen angels fear the glare
of Heaven's eyes.  But the adventure,
the freedom of their cursed domain,
their nature... no need to explain.

"You dare to speak to me of Orange!"
Beelzebub jumped to his feet.
If you were standing within bow range,
you'd suffocate. The noxious heat
would permeate your every fiber...
"Your Fraudulence, he's a subscriber..."
was the attempted weak reply.
The Devil was prepared to fry
his old companion, but relented,
remembering the one cursed soul
that would resist any control
no matter how it was tormented.
"Subscriber", muttered Beelzebub,
"and there, indeed, there lies the rub."

Now you may ask, observant reader:
how do I know just what was said?
This kind of access to the leader,
the one whose name fills men with dread.
Bulgakov, Goethe, Milton, Crowley
These giants -- sure.  But the unholy
is likely careful with his plans,
though we've heard of the frying pans.
The ovens also have their fanbase,
fed by voracious coal fired flames
(I won't be naming any names)
familiar to liars, boldface.
Cooked to a crisp, their tangy meat.
How do I know?  A front row seat.

Part III

Through all this time, as Hell plans evil
the Tempted sit upon their cloud.
Those didn't fall. When the primeval
rebellion raged, and as the proud
fell one by one, they held their temper.
Pledging fidelity, fi semper,
and as the winner took it all
retained their gains after the Fall.
Temptation, though, the shiny master
of those that seek the winning side
peeks out when it is safe outside
If only it could win more, faster!
And so the Tempted wait for fate,
and any chance to raise their state.

Among the Tempted, there's none other
than the Archangel Gabriel.
Considered Lucifer his brother
before creation went to hell.
The two inseparable buddies,
whether on leave or at their studies,
had always followed the same path
until the day of Heaven's wrath.
But Gabriel, though sorely tempted,
did not believe there was a way --
if there's a will is what they say,
but caution having won, preempted
the plans Beelzebub had drawn.
Some still think Lucifer his pawn.

He grows so bored, so bored with Heaven.
A miracle is fun, but once.
What use to never roll a seven
if seven never had a chance?
And truth be told, he misses fire.
Archangel, what an odd desire!
But Heaven's rule -- no open flame,
or else there will be hell to blame.
It's then he's struck with an idea,
but how to contact his old friend
without achieving his own end,
and would this would be panacea
be of an interest to 'Bub?
And do it safely, there's the rub.

Considers, then rejects some options,
to settle, smugly, on a dove,
and all the while, the interruptions,
these coming mostly from above,
affirm his goal -- in modern parlance,
the angel longs for work life balance,
and so while you might think it strange,
decides it's time to make a change.
Instructs the bird -- he's firm but civil.
Fly down, and when the sun lies low
reach out to Him that rules below,
the Incarnation of all Evil,
and tell him: brother wants a meet,
pick someplace nice where we can eat.

Part IV

You think you know where this is going --
before we give away the store,
remember God, who is all knowing.
Some might consider him a bore,
all goody two shoes, hymns and sermons,
sits on his cloud and predetermines
each quanta as it tries to split.
No, it's not easy to compete
with such unmitigated power,
and all the angels know it well:
their every action is a tell,
since every second of the hour
God knows exactly what and where,
as Gabriel is well aware.

But this is highly inefficient.
Sheer repetition dulls your sense,
and so all knowing or omniscient,
you're not as quick to take offense
if someone can relieve your boredom.
So take some risks, you can afford them.
Omnipotent, there's time to waste,
no need to hurry or to haste.
I'm sure you've seen a plot as follows:
the villain has you in control,
but following a protocol,
he will not send you to the gallows,
as if he's choosing to be had.
Thinks he has time.  And so does God.

The dove flies down, uninterrupted,
and calls the Devil by his names,
the new ones, since he's been corrupted,
the ones that better fit his aims.
Though he won't answer every mention,
Lord of the Flies gets his attention --
those that will use him for their crimes
believe he must be called three times --
but pentagrams, do not be silly:
to think a line of chalk can block
primeval beings from their flock...
And goat blood, candles? I mean, really,
you must be quite a devotee.
The Beast came, sporting a goatee.

Their conversation veiled by vapors,
but tidbits could be overheard.
Avoiding written notes and papers
and sticking to the spoken word,
the two had chosen a location,
and having swapped this information,
the bird retired to the sky.
Beelzebub, though, by the by
was left with many things to ponder.
Is any, any of it real?
And Gabriel, in his new zeal --
that in itself a shock, a wonder --
could he be true now? Or a lie?
He shooed  away a noisy fly.

Part V

They met at a Manhattan diner,
the kind you'd call a tourist trap,
a sitcom lover its designer,
where customers can safely yap
on either politics or tropics.
In short, a wide array of topics.
The place was vulgar, hot and loud.
You couldn't pick them in the crowd,
and that, of course, was what they wanted.
Could not afford to have it known
that they, unsanctioned, on their own,
would meet -- the both of them still haunted
by that unfortunate event
that named the Devil malcontent.

As you'd expect, they started cautious,
exchanging pleasantries, no more.
"These pickles really are atrocious",
the Devil offered, and before
the angel had a chance to answer
he added "they might give you cancer,
that's if you were a mortal, man.
Now, what is this about a plan?"
And soon, they're lost in conversation:
the if, the what, the how, the when,
Beelzebub inquires, and then,
he understands the operation,
jaw dropping on his poker face.
Turns out this angel wants his place!

"But Gabe", he says.  "We aren't winning,
in fact I'm kind of at a loss.
If you had said in the beginning,
when we both had a coin to toss,
but now? These newly wakened devils
will not police their chosen levels,
the ones that Dante wrote about,
and sinners often go without
a frying pan or screaming Furies.
I keep expecting, any day,
some demon to show up and say:
Where is the judge?  Where are the juries?
You'd trade the heavens for this hell?
What prompted this desire? Do tell."

Archangel Gabriel was puzzled.
"Beelzebub, I had no clue!
To have you so reined in and muzzled,
and all in thanks to you know who.
He infiltrates with good vibrations,
and all your trials and tribulations...
What was the point, then, of your deal?"
To hear the angel's slick appeal
you'd think their roles were switched already,
and Gabriel could tell no truth.
Beelzebub, long in the tooth,
maintained composure, holding steady,
and asked his question, slick and sly,
awaiting Gabriel's reply.

Part VI

Let's check with God, if for a second.
By now you'd think He's quite concerned.
He well remembers: Pride had beckoned
and his beloved angel turned.
But God continues nonchalantly.
Does He not care, to put it bluntly,
or does He know the story's plot
and so the details move Him not?
Or maybe it's His inclination,
as demonstrated more than once,
to give free will another chance,
and salvage, or repeat damnation.
His ways inscrutable, we know.
Perhaps just going with the flow.

By now old Gabriel had spoken,
and Satan, satisfied, agreed.
To seal the deal he gave a token:
should the archangel have a need
to call the Devil in a  hurry,
he needn't hesitate or worry,
but simply squeeze the five point star,
and Lucifer will not be far.
The two embraced, but for a minute,
exchanged attires in a rush,
both well endowed, no need to blush,
and now committed, truly in it,
each took the other's sacred role,
and kept it quite, not a soul.

For Gabriel, the worst is weather,
though Mammon's hygiene a close call.
His outfits too, all brass and leather,
some that were made before the Fall.
For Lucifer, it's an adventure.
Out and about from his indenture,
he does resent his God's commands,
but at the same time understands
the opportunity is golden,
and marvels at the Pearly Gates,
although he truly, truly hates
when angels sing, as if beholden,
hosannas evening, day and night.
Oh, God, he thinks, it's just not right.

This thought, at last, wakes the Almighty,
and he appears upon His throne.
Of course He knows.  He says "all righty..."
If you expect a certain tone,
a low, low bass, or a soprano,
it's neither.  More mano-a-mano,
Like two old friends who meet at last,
and wish to talk about the past.
And then He says "but surely, Satan...",
and it is like old times, indeed,
a father talking to his seed.
The Devil does his best to straighten,
and readies for the next rebuke.
He is so nervous he could puke.

Part VII

"But surely, Satan", God continues,
"this new found role will suit you best.
Grow into it.  Try, stretch those sinews,
and give those evil deeds a rest.
Give Gabriel a chance to practice.
He's been as prickly as a cactus,
and bored to death of all that's good.
Like you.  You're both misunderstood."
At this display of understanding,
Beelzebub bursts into tears.
"So all those eons, all those years..." --
"Indeed", God says, and then, expanding:
"Remember, it is all my will."  --
"That is one hell of a red pill",
Beelzebub replied, tears flowing,
to nearly drown the pesky gnat
that hangs around his face.  Eyes glowing,
he burned it to a crisp.  With that,
he's ready for transfiguration,
after receiving God's oration,
he understands that to obey
the will of God you must be grey,
Let demons raise their voice in prayer,
while good and evil mix and match
and get their kicks by playing catch.
The Devil, never a truthsayer,
accepts a truth that must be kept.
Hell woke. Or maybe never slept.