Chapter 16, one moment of heaven

Lucifer, you never looked so sane.
A morning star no longer in the game
I see you now, the golden boy in chains
still pointing that accusing finger to lay blame

an old hand now, who, through the years, has learned
his job to point in the direction, why not that?
your legion's weak, their foibles soon discerned:
their selfishness, their vanity, their doubt

temptation, the trick you used to play
you look, from Hell, to higher planes, and sigh.
carrots, strings and axes put away
Your blithe mask slips. You wipe tears from your 'eye'

And in your hand, man's long unsettled score:
rotting, brown, a withered apple-core.