The Devil Tenders his Resignation. Poems I have written #4

The Devil tenders His resignation

 

It hurts Me to admit this but I’ve had enough.

I think it’s time You shut up shop, 

and spent Your dotage in the Garden,

a Saint or Angel on each arm.  

Don’t look at Me like that. 

Remember when they called you Zeus? 

I’ve heard You looking at them.

 

When We split everything three ways:

You got heaven, I got hell, 

and poor Poisidon got the sea.

Why tell You something You already know? 

Be patient. Trust Me. Details matter. 

After early bickering, and some disasters, 

We agreed to a new clause; 

each had to stay out of the others’ realms

and middle earth was out of bounds. 

I want that contract scrapped. We all agreed

humans must be free to choose and then 

denied Ourselves that freedom.

 

You asked for the impossible. 

They want Your admiration, they 

choose kindness, compassion, 

care for the poor, the weak, the old. do all that

and then they’ll be rewarded when they die.

A lunatic’s wager based on wishful thinking.

We worked so hard to make it seem appealing. 

Back in the day, My job to send the imps to whisper:  

Go on, why not, you know it’s what you want to do. 

Just a job, I did it well, for centuries in every time and place:

Go on, why not, you know it’s what you want to do.

At first there was a joy in mischief. 

When they were caught, when Peter turned them back

they wailed, He made us do it. But We all knew they lied.

They always had a choice. That was the one clause 

You refused to change. I did My job, I did it well.

But I can’t do it anymore. The routes to hell are choked 

with shuffling dead, queuing at the gates like refugees.

Our bureaucracy broke down. 

Camps sprang up to house those waiting to be processed. 

The camp fires of the wretched cast their dull glow on the roof of hell

And the smoky plains before the gate are never dark.

The imps who punish couldn’t cope. We tried recruiting 

from amongst the dead. That was My first mistake. 

We couldn’t mind their savage urge to harm and hurt. 

But when we found them plotting a return to middle earth

we had to shut the program down and terminate the staff.

Some humans are too vile for hell itself. 

  

I vote We pack our bags and leave them to it.   

When I arrived, your gates were rusted open, 

Peter was asleep, and nobody was waiting to get in. 

A few stray angels and a random saint, bored out her mind.

The loud-mouthed fools who claim they do your bidding

have no chance of redemption. Admit it, even You are tired, 

disgusted, disappointed. The Garden and the angels beckon, 

so free Me from my contract. Let Me out of hell.  

The human race has no more need of You,

So sign, there on the dotted line. 

Go on, You know it’s what You want to do.