The Fall of Lucifer

Upon the heights where stars align,

He stood in splendor, pure, divine.

The Morning Star, with wings so wide,

In Heaven's courts, he burned with pride.

His voice like thunder, clear and deep—

Yet envy stirred in angel sleep.

He gazed upon the throne above,

And dared to rival boundless love.

“No longer will I serve,” he swore,

“Let angels bow to me and more!”

But wrathful light split sky and sea—

The fall began from majesty.

With legions bound in prideful flame,

He stormed the gates in Heaven’s name.

But Michael rose with sword of fire,

And cast him down from holy choir.

Through shouting voids and burning air,

He fell in rage and black despair.

The stars wept blood, the firmament cracked,

As Earth received the angel lacked.

His wings were torn, his crown undone,

He cursed the Maker, moon and sun.

From Heaven's grace to Hell's dark den,

He ruled the hate of fallen men.

Now bound in chains of pride and grief,

He tempts the heart, he steals belief.

In shadows deep he speaks of light,

A silver tongue that cloaks the night.

Yet truth remains, though veiled and dim:

No throne shall rise to challenge Him.

And so he waits in sulfur flame,

A king of ash, devoid of name.

Yet prophecy shall end his woe,

With chains and fire from below.

For light, though lost, shall not be slain—

The Son shall rise, and rule again.