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Daniel Bird Daniel Bird
Recommendations: 47

The Fall From Grace

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She had a friend.

Listening to "I AM THE HIGHWAY" By Audioslave this suddenly came to me and I had no choice but to write it down! Enjoy!

A Very Long Time Ago...

     With the first rays of the new day blasting over the horizon, setting her to flames, he held her close, careful not to crush her; the light of day taking her up in flakes of ash, scorching her skin, burning her ageless beauty to memory: a million moments of true love under the stars, their hearts, filled with everlasting love, sailing over midnight rainbows to the far side of ecstasy, beyond those most pleasurable sins of the body. With his beautiful white wings drawn over them both (helpless against God’s great light) a great wall of tears rose up like a dam, ready to burst, on the verge of flooding the earth, ready to wipe it clean. In those final moments of her earthly tender, he soothed her blackened cheeks with all the affection he could muster, running a fair hand through dark long curls and wept. And all the seasons of the world – like weeping spirits, offered him only sadness and agony deep down in his soul, wounding him greatly, forever.  

     And the sun itself – like a great Dragon rising up in a fit of rage, burned him all the way down to his heart, driving out the light, washing away all good things, letting in the darkness, the fear and the hatred. Oh how he cried, like great peals of thunder, the force of such dire consequences driving home like a stake, sealing her fate for all eternity, changing him too, forever. Never would he forget her soothing voice, like a sweet Siren singing by moonlight. Never would he forget her touch, delicate like the summer air, so utterly tender and true. Never would he forget her beauty, those sharp intelligent eyes, so keen and wise, somehow child-like. And always he would remember her lips, so delicious, like the forbidden fruit of Eden for him alone to taste til the end of time. Nor would he forget her virtue, her heart made for him alone, her devotion like that of sweet songbirds in a summer glen mating for life. Never would he forget her laugh, so fit for a queen, so full of zeal and light! On he wept, cursing God above. Hating Him, swearing vengeance.

       Unable to stop the bright, sun-shiny wash from taking her, cleansing her of him, his lawlessness, his pride, his simple disdain for orders – the natural laws given him by a higher power – thee highest power – and with all his great cunning and all his great wisdom, he was unable to save her sweet frame its fiery torment; unable to keep her supple breasts from burning through, unable to help her shapely legs from catching fire, her toes from becoming crisp. And with all his great accomplishments set before him in the name of glory and honour and truth he was subdued; helpless against the tide; truly incapable of giving her a sweet death. And with all that his lungs could offer, he screamed and screamed and screamed to the heavens, crying into the day, his soul fallen to misery and grief.

     And like that the whole of the forest floor fell silent, as though millions of years of instincts beckoned the whole wild world before him to lament a fallen Angel; as though in one voice the Great Spirit Himself hushed them, slowing their endless foraging, slowing their tiny wings, halting their natural drive to feed, made them to lie down in green pastures and sit on the petals of flowers in prayer, if only for a few short moments; as if to say to the whole wild world: remember this day. Remember it for all time. Write great stories and tell it wide over the waters to all who reside beneath the stars – all who will listen.

     And right there beneath a glorious day, with a sea of great dark clouds gathering in the distance, he held her until there was little left of her to look upon but ash, the dark etches of her soul scarring the earth where he knelt, infecting the grass. And on he cried, loosening the word of the Lord from his blood, setting it free from his body through red swelling eyes to fall like tiny rivers down his face. And with all his good memories close to heart – the beauty of a million precious moments in her heart put away somewhere deep down in those deepest vaults within his being – he could only watch helplessly as her face, her beautiful, beautiful face turned to ashen bits rising on the breeze, her soul, soaring to new heights, going home, to dine alone.

     In a single heartbeat – the moment his hands came together, the very moment she exploded into the early morning, when the her bones and flesh became fiery bits on the winds, when her hair and nails succumbed to the just force of the Almighty, all hopes had been relinquished, all glory had been set aside for another day. And like the saddest song in Heaven he wept, missing her greatly, his mind a world of sweet memories in her presence, exalted by her willingness to share with him the most tender moments the world would ever allow; enough to carry him on high over the threshold and on into the Gates of Heaven a conquering Hero. And like honey-in the moonlight, she would forever remain but a taste of such a pure thing that simply could not last.

     And like that, perched on the banks of a slow moving river beneath sacred boughs, the sheer beauty of this place with its natural scores of colourful flowers, high grass and endless scurrying insects, his great might had been stripped from his very being, rendering him weak, his far reaching ambitions...bested, his wily ideas...crushed, his curious nature sapped of yearning. And with her death flowed freely the tears that set free him free, to wander lost and lonely and afraid until the end of the world. Like a helpless child, unable to fathom the great storm within his being, he simply cried and cried and cried, whispering her name again and again...Venus of the Eternal Starlight of the Gods. Fallen forth, the dirt wiping the beauty of such perfect skin, his knees became stained, the world itself somehow tainting him, offering him its natural texture for the first time ever, seeming to say, “you my son, are no longer permitted the wealth of the goodness of the Father.” And far off, a flash of lighting touched down, seeming to say, “ can just stay here. Don’t bother coming home.” And still he cried, deeply wounded like never before, fallen from the grace of the one thing he had never been without: the light, the warmth, the love.

     His long golden hair touched down on the grass, quickly turning to black locks. His blue eyes, like beacons of faith and righteousness turned a deeper violet. A great thing had been born unto him in that single moment. A dark thing. An evil thing.  A force to be reckoned with. With that he took a deep breath, drew his wings close behind him, growled like a tormented Lion and slammed his powerful fists into the grass, swearing revenge, swearing eternity, swearing to offer up to the world his own unique light – his dark light. And so, the world of the flesh of man drew away, folding back, becoming once again unattainable, placing him back to the realm of spirits. And once again, after a week – seven days – on the earth, he was unable to touch the flowers or swim in the rivers, or make love to those precious beauties who wandered here and there in the nude. And just as his greatest, truest love had been ripped from his arms, so too, did the light of Heaven fail to warm him, the light of the Lord fail to soothe back his fears.

     And then and there... on the banks of a lonely river, standing tall and proud, wiping the last of the tears from his face, putting his good memories away, tucking them away somewhere deep down next to his soul, he began his arduous climb toward the gates of Heaven, choosing not to use his most divine gift – the gift of flight – his wings tucked close behind. For what seemed an eternity, through heartache and torment, through uncertainty and loss of faith in his Lord, he climbed, his golden armour becoming heavy, too heavy to bear, sending them down, to fall to the earth. And on he climbed through the ages, his fight ever heated and ever present, driving him home to conquer or be conquered; to have a word with his great father. On through the darkness, whilst great evil beasts tore at him, he climbed.

     After what seemed an eternity the gates drew close rising up for many, many miles. And there, at the gates, the whole of Heaven awaited his return, knowing his tale, his tale of betrayal, of foregoing his faith, of spitting in the Lord’s face, of his treachery. Stumbling forth, beaten and battered and gravely wounded, ripped and torn, he was met by all the Angels in Heaven, who pitied him, who so wished to forgive him his trespasses, but served the Father before all things and therefore could do no such thing. And so it was a day of remembrance, a day when even the goodness of the Lord could not hold even His great passions, his love, his rule, sway; a day when the first shadows fell upon the gates of Heaven, blemishing them with ignorance and wanton immorality; a day when Lucifer could no longer call himself an Angel of the Lord.

      And his judgment was swift and harsh, caused by his own immoral nature; his pure blood flowing through the veins of an immortal young beauty. His verdict was a most surprising sentence found at once when he could no longer pass through the gates, when he could no longer walk in with everyone else, seemingly stopped by an immovable force, a terrible gale force blowing upon him with great heat and seeming destruction. And all the Angels – afraid of him, afraid of what he had become, left him all alone, the agony of such a thing causing him at once to turn back, to return to the earth, to live in the darkness, out of His great light, away from His great love, his only warmth to be felt by the fires deep beneath the surface of the world where he could be a true living King if he so desired. And the sun itself, so beautiful and all natural, and the goodness of man, the purity of all things – across the whole of the Universe – would cause him torment and great discomfort, and the darkness which he now clung to would serve as his master, binding him to its cold dark fury, its maddened fate.

     And God – without a single word, bade him leave, and down he fell, swept away in a bolt of lightning, his great white wings stolen to the colour of black glass, his heart shattered, becoming fueled with darkness and shadow, corrupting him, drawing out his most prized possession: revenge. And like that, a powerful force to cover the earth in death and sorrow and agony...Lucifer touched down, disgraced, removed from power where the glow of God’s good fortune kissed the shoulders of all.

     And on he walked into the night, whistling a soft lament by moonlight, stirring the forests an abominable spirit, diving splash into the waters before trekking across great distances, leaving no footsteps upon the land. On he went, completely lost, seeking to find himself; his true nature yet to be revealed. And like a curious child prodding and poking he came into the lives of man, the limelight of his personality exhibiting a clever ruse with natural charm with honeyed-words enough to convince the most brilliant minds. And always he came to them in their dreams, fueling men with visions of power and grandeur, women with means to manipulate the masses with ardent sexuality and beauty enough to hold great power over men.  And though they never truly saw him, never truly looked upon his great beauty, he was there, deep in their hearts, seeking to lure them away from the light of the Lord.

     And in the darkness, deep beneath the earth, close to the fires, he worked his great plan, the dark light in his heart waking, becoming rich with sprite and fury; the complete slavery of the entire world. He would introduce them to the idea of riches and civilizations and great empires bequeathing great power and vast wealth to entire nations who sold their souls merely by offering his prayer and blood. Brilliant he was this fallen Angel; gifted in the dark arts. And like that he stepped upon the earth, tattered robes swaying by the fire where he sat, simply watching the humans dance, calling to the Gods, led solely by instinct; yearning the wisdom of the Heavens and the beings that govern them from above. And how he searched for a bride, roaming from tribe to tribe, covered in furs, bedding countless women, making great leaders from their strongest, boldest, smartest men, learning and mastering their customs, using their beliefs against them.

     Watching the rise of man, from harnessing fire, to caves and grasslands and onto civilizations, he gave rise to a great horde of Demons, giving them power over nations and great men that he might work freely – that he might be alone with his thoughts; that he might free to reminisce; keeping his vast secret close to heart: how to give his blood to mankind through bedding the most pure virgins. And like that he built his army by day, using all the tools of persuasion, stemming from political awareness with the ultimate goal of power and vast wealth the aphrodisiac.

     And since the days of his long ago beginnings he traveled the world by shadow and moonlight, wandering the world, making his fortune, becoming a king; a true living king, to rule over the lands, to rise in the flesh once again and conquer or be conquered. And never ever would he forget the beast that stole his heart making him new all over. All nations would come to know his name, come to bed with him and dine on the fruits of the blood of man, through wickedness and greed and lust for power. And like that, a power unto his own, he rose up to conquer, amassing great fortunes and great power; come to sit on mounds of gold with the world dancing to his greatest beat, his greatest whims met by nakedness and lust and wretchedness of young beauties, his only offering of gold and wickedness and slavery, offering his black sheep naught but the receding of light, of righteousness, of honour and glory.

     And like that, with a vast army before him ready to spill the blood of the world, he held close his very own story, his very own legacy for all mankind to see. And like that, during the darkest and strangest time in the history of the earth, when the world fell into the shadow of the dark rift, his story was the one all would be a part of one way or another, and in his great tower, looking over the nations of the world, his eyes upon every city, over every man, woman and child, his final act was about to be received, and the entire world would come to understand how he met his fate, how his very name held the meaning of the fall from grace.


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