Morcifer, my dancing black angel, whose laughter was the chimes of armageddon,
unfolding and rocking and plunging, dense redness in my mind.
Darker than evil, darker than love, a lost balance,
his was the youthful rejoicing and relishing in the pain,
the destruction, the ruins, the perishing,
the arcane.
His own call was his song, his instrument of peace, and his throng,
but "Can't you see?" he said, "I'm not that strong..."
And he stamped his feet to the ancient tune and rhythm of throbbing hearts of lovers
and rumbling earthquakes and the beating of golden angelic armies,
and the firmament began to collapse itself.
Out of love, joyful love,
he could do anything and all,
wreak destruction and renewal to realms beyond,
cause the angels of eden to fall
[into hell, out of love],
make a soul perish with clean-stained hands, breathe life into a cold white gravestone.
Anything; to save love itself.
Mortality was the chariot of Morcifer, my dancing black angel.
His soul is young yet.
Howling of the primordial chaos of the supreme,
of love, of delight, and the human being, he cried
"Thou art never alone!" and unleashed his mortal perils, retribution and absolution,
reaping and wreaking mortality.
"And I am the ruiner, the destructor, and the perisher and I love. So join the above."
But they never knew, never knew, thought his love was hate; so he woefully sang,
"And perdition... will be my life!"
He had another Angel of Armageddon, Messifer, and they screamed
"That we love is our holy light, and our holy dark yet!" And as he rocked suspended in the air,
his laughter [the colour of the aurora],
echoed and their memories
billowing in the wind
faded fast, and their words only rang at last,
where bodies blended with stardust and grass:
"Oh, how I love you..."