| Social Commentary > Beelzebub's Lament | by Amara Morrigan |
4/1/2003 |
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Beelzebub hung his head
and sighed quite mournfully
his coffee steamed the morning air
and he cupped it carefully
in hands quite large for coffee cups
dainty as they are
he sighed once more and glanced my way
as I sat down at the bar
His visage was quite ugly
scarred from some ancient pain
his skin was blistered with fury
his eyes wrinkled with disdain
He looked quite like his life had been
terribly misled
I asked him if he felt all right
and he slowly shook his head
black horns rasped the rafters
as he sipped at his brew
“No, but thanks for asking.
I’m not okay, thank you.”
I wondered what had hurt him
what had caused his sighs
I was also slightly frightened
it must have shown there in my eyes
He smiled, sharp teeth shining
and I wasn’t quite at ease
but his face looked like he’d lost a friend
and I had some time to tease
“Tell me, friend, what troubles you.”
I asked, quite sincere
He sighed again and turned to me
spoke softly in my ear…
“My name, dear friend, is Beelzebub
I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
I nodded my head and swallowed fear
along with my sip of tea.
“I’ve lived a long, long time,”
he said, picking at a sore
“with a decent job, and a decent boss
who could ask for more?
Yet, I must admit I’m tired
and I hate the way I’m seen.
The Big Guy let’s them make me
dress like some nightmare from a dream.”
“These hooves were their idea,
long, long ago
because something frightened them
I got hooves to show.
The horns, they came at the same time,
though they’ve grown across the years
and now I have to put up with
these silly pointy ears
My skin’s been black and blue and green
though right now it’s red
and I have to keep the blisters
and the sores on my head.”
He seemed upon the verge of tears
and his shoulders shook with rage
I almost wanted to hug him
though I didn’t want the plague.
Then he got control of himself
and sipped from his coffee cup.
“Once I was a beauty,” he said,
“beneath this get-up.
But the people wanted ugly,
they wanted fear and doubt
and the Boss thought that maybe
it might just help them out.
Instead its turned me like this
and caused generational fears
and while we work the kinks out,
I’m left to cry the tears”
“I was sent to tempt and test,
`tis true enough,” he sighed
“but whoever called me evil,
well that fella lied.
Cause I only do the bidding
of the Boss who crafted me
but they’re lost in their delusions
and simply cannot see
that under this disguise
I wear a mantle white
I’m not so bad a guy, you know
when seen in the right light.”
He finished his coffee and turned to go
his sadness in the air
and to my surprise I suddenly saw
a man standing there
skin of white perfection
sublime in its delight
standing in a puddle
of other-worldly light
A voice like thunder shook the ground
as a dove descended there
and touched his white robed shoulder
in gesture of loving care
With tears in my eyes
I looked up into that light
not expecting what I’d find,
my goodness what a sight
the face I knew as Jesus,
and that of Kuan Yin
and Mary, Isis, Astarte,
Dagda, Zeus, Horus, and Odin
and more I didn’t recognize
all peered down from above
and flowing from the collective
was overwhelming love
Beelzubub had bowed his knees
in honor of his kin
and I joined him on the floor,
my ego quite done in
Then the moment passed
and the scene had disappeared
I was kneeling on the floor
my face now wet with tears
I rose and downed my tea,
tossed a dollar on the bar
and I smiled at the skies
as I got into my car.
so, take this to heart, friend
the moral of the story,
is tradition sometimes lies
and paints truth a shade of gory
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