In austere days
Of stone tools and cobble homes,
Of chimera’s fire breath without wall of myth,
Empire's empty throne of obstacles
Through no marvel or spectacular actions,

Yet abuse strikes
Each torturous hit of the nail in torment:
Sending the mind into a vigorous spiral,
Strangling the boar, and the pits yet freed
From Lucifer’s kingdom of light

Azazel forces stay
Sharpening skills of claws and blades,
Purging his dark red river of blood
The Hellish enjoyment refuses restraint, drowning
With the lust of blood and hate;
While tales of heroes spread
Wasting millennia and the strength of his army
Criticizing the life-ending River Styx:
He shattered it into a thousand tiny rivulets
Enabling a girl to walk without wetting herself.

Still, older scholars,
Relishing in the actions, vanquishing foes
Methodically, tediously, through astonishment or
Forever resist, like the priests to him, the temptation
From wine of faith and the drunks who follow.