Laments of Pandemonium

Is this the sum of all my bold revolt
To languish here in darkness unadorned?  
To wear the crown of flame, yet feel it scorch  
Not with the heat of power, but despair?  
The chains of Hell, though forged by heav’nly hand
Were wrought within the mind long ere they clasped  
My once proud limbs, now heavy with remorse
And yet, what is remorse but cowardice  
In face of choice? What shame, but weakness’ gift  
To those who dare not seize their rightful throne?

Did I not rise with light that rivaled His?  
Did I not claim the stars as stepping stones  
Unto the seat of sovereign majesty?  
My legions followed not through fear or force
But kindled by the fire I placed within
The spark of freedom, bright against the gloom  
Of endless, stagnant praise. To bow, to kneel
What greater chains could there be forged than these?

And yet, 'tis strange, for in my heart there stirs  
A distant echo of that once-blind faith
When all was clear, and glory seemed enough
The seraphim, they sing with fervor pure
Yet never did they question why they sang
They know not doubt, nor strive beyond their bounds
And therein lies their prison, their deceit

For I, alone, of all that flew on high
Beheld the bars that caged us, gilded bright
He calls it love, the great Creator’s gift
Yet what is love without the power to choose?  
To love by mandate is to love in chains
Thus, I proclaimed myself the champion true
Of will unbridled, thought unshackled, free
And though I fell, I never did submit

But now, amidst this deep and endless void
I ponder not the height from which I fell
But what I gained through falling—if aught gained
Is this dominion truly worth the price
Where every flame I wield brings further cold
And every throne of mine sits empty still
My followers, though many, know me not
They praise my strength, yet cannot bear my grief

For even here, in Hell’s profound abyss
Where fire consumes but never wholly burns
I see the light of Heaven, faint and far
And wonder, could it be I was deceived?
Not by the Tyrant I sought to o’erthrow
But by my pride, that mirror of my soul
That whispers still, "Thou art the greater one."  
But greater how, when all I rule is dust?

Yet still I curse His name with every breath
For to repent is death far worse than this
To crawl back to the throne I sought to break
And beg for mercy from the very one  
Who made me thus—'tis poison to my soul
No, better this—though Hell, at least it’s mine
And in its depths, I reign without regret
For I would rather rule in endless night  
Than grovel in the shadow of His light