The Eternal Hell of the Faithful

by Christopher D. Holoman

The Angles and Good Spirits felt compelled 
to free those stuck in hell.
Those who refused to give up the fight, 
those who refused to believe wrong is right.
There in their camp they sharpen their knives and spears, 
there in the night they wipe away their tears.
In their minds it is only today; 
in their minds there was no yesterday.
They bowed even lower than ever before; 
they bowed to the Gods their ancestors taught them to adore.
They poured out their pure hearts to heaven once again; 
they vowed to continue to fight until they win.
In their minds they could see the shinning city they swore to defend; 
in their minds they could see their mothers, their fathers, their children, their friends.
It will be here that the danger will not pass; 
it will be here that we will fight to the very last.
“Oh Dear Gods above, here our prayer, 
have we not kept your sacraments, have we not given wine and oils to you as we were told?  
Have we not adorned your image with silver, precious gems and gold?  
If we have offended you, we offer you our lives as a gift, 
if this curse you will only lift.  
Let not the beast violate our temples, our homes, our lands.  
Oh Dear Beloved God, we place our humble lives in your hands”.
As the prayers of the faith continued well into the night; 
the sight of such strong men’s tears filled the Angles with humility and fright. 
The strong men wailed and cried like a child; 
their tears fell freely pooled and ran like the Nile.  
What love and devotion they had to confess; 
what a prison, what a fortress.  
How will we ever get them to understand 
that their love ones have crossed into the eternal lands?
One by one as if by cue the Beloved rose to their feet 
and prepared themselves for what they were sworn to do.  
Assured this time that the kind and merciful Gods have heard their prayers up above, 
they anointed their skins with perfumes and oils; 
they adorned themselves with shinny brass armor being ever so careful not to get soiled.  
There they stood in the rising sun 100,000 strong; 
there they stood confident in the truth, confident they were not wrong.  
As the sun rose above the duns of the Sahara 
they could see the devils approaching like locus on their filthy animals and chariots.  
Each man grasped their bronze swords, each man a devoted patriot. 
They looked over their shoulders one last time at the blazing love they have left behind.  
The magnificent pyramids, the temples their homes; 
the thought of these filthy Hyksos violating it chilled them all to the bone.  
No not this day or ever will we let them pass. 
We the faithful will prevail, if not here, then in hell.  
We will fight them on this day and our love for our people will never sway.  
With a happy heart they charged forward again; just like yesterday, 
just like the day before, just like they will forever more.  
The Angles and the Good Spirits shook their heads in frustration 
to watch the futile efforts of the beautiful souls of a nation 
that was long ago crushed into the dust by greed, ignorance and lust.  
What beautiful souls did they produce, but this battle was of no use.  
One Angle turned to the others and said, 
“The power of love can free you from loneliness and despair; 
the power of love can curse you and make you unaware.  
To all of you faithful so good and right, 
do not be blinded by love but behold the beauty of the fight.”

The Eternal Hell of the Faithful by Christopher D. Holoman

© Copyright 2004. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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