I've written this poem in iambic pentameter and I wonder if my bible references can hold water. In other words, if you feel like reading this, and you know Christianity (drawn from ancient texts, legends, and Dante's Inferno), could you please tell me your thought on the moral philosophies of this poem. I am deeply concerned that my details might be off enough to offend a Christian, and that is not at all my intention...
Thanks.
-------------------------------
Jesus vs. Satan in a Cage Match
(for the Undisputed Championship of the World)
For weeks that passed since Satan signed a deal
with Jesus, King of Kings, the meanest son
of God to step inside a wrestling ring,
the Lord of Dark did train with demon’s formed
of Final Judgment – mammoth beasts of huge
proportions sporting gloves of leathered blood.
He fought in Hell with blackened souls that stunk
of shit and sulfur; power slamming imps
and Goblins cursed on Lucifer himself.
As Satan sparred with serpents wearing gear
in vile pits of pus and blood and piss,
the Son of Man was learning body slams
from Michael, judo master – former champ.
The Savior practiced double drivers, front
and back bionic elbows, chicken wings,
and sleeper holds. He learned defensive moves
that guaranteed a shifted twisted limb
to any trick that Lusty Dick might try.
Both fighters knew the rules (the rules were none),
and anything could happen. Jesus Christ
prepared his heart as Satan preached the law:
“A cage will hang above the ring, its bars
will lock of steel,” he spit through broken teeth
and shot, “If fear has cooled your fist, O Lord,
perhaps we strike a deal?” And evil seemed
a solid mass that wet the Dragon’s tongue,
a thick disgusting gel that dripped his mouth.
The match that came before the main event
was live – the Giant trounced the tag team chumps
despite his shattered eye. Yet fans were bored
with Giant’s hook; uneasy men and ghouls
that sweated waves of flesh were hyped to see
the promised Brawl to Right the Fall. They bit
and scratched for closer pews. They sat at home
in slothful trenches worn in couches, eyes
entranced at global broadcast pay-per-view.
The lights went numb and stillness fell the mob,
a muted clamor sought the lite macabre.
A chorus sung by seraphs sealed the space
with song; the place was packed like cigarettes
and Satan’s ticket lit the sticks. The ref
announced Beelzebub as standing seven six.
The fireworks and laser beams were sick
and reeked of vomit. Devil bitches danced
beside the sad abomination, bore
their bellies shedding rancid flesh. And men
were ill while ghouls began to cheer their Prince.
As Satan stood impatient, Jesus, King
Of Kings, descended misty clouds that hung
of Heaven over rafters draped above
the fans – the image caused the crowd to cast
a single tear that cleaned the floor. And God
implored his son to stop the Evil One
by using any means except excess.
The Holy Son had practiced much, and now
the ideal time to test his skills had come.
The lights went hot and Satan stared the Son
of Man with bloody lips. The ring had pulse
that fiercely beat a tribal rhythm. Christ
the Holy Savior, hard as stone on glass,
was tiny measured next to Lucifer –
as small as Dante ducking Mammon’s thumb.
The tension, foul as grease, which fueled the fight
was rank as flies that feast on bile, pus,
and scabs. Both wrestlers readied fists to clash.
The cage was dropped by golden thread that fixed
on rigid bars which trapped the wrestlers tight;
a stringent ref was near, but only God
could end the match – and lunar phases came
and passed before the open hand was dealt.
The mob anticipated grappling moves,
and shots to end the row, but Jesus Christ
and Satan stood as statues watching death.
No turning back, the fight commenced on cue…
The Devil tossed the first destructive blow,
But Jesus ducked and dodged like Junk Yard Dog.
The Son of Man, he grabbed the bitter horns
of Satan, chopped his hoary chest and split
an uppercut. But Satan countered cool
and quick with triple monkey flips. The speed
of Satan’s Judo kick was swift and prompt
to pop the Lord a collapsed chest; he set
the Savior up a Million Dollar Slam
and Jesus hit the mat with brutal force.
Beelzebub, as fast as hornet’s wings,
applied the sleeper hold on Christ the King.
And J’s response: a snapping mare to bow
and arrow double belly breakers, sharp
and jagged. Satan merely retched in joy,
employed a torture rack until the Son
of God went dead with floppy limbs. The Prince
of Darkness, Sin, and Vice, collected Christ
in arms as broad as beams of frozen steel.
He crushed him under running elbows, tramped
a muddy hole and cracked the Savior’s mug.
He picked him off the canvas, bashed his nose
against the cage, which felt like shattered gems
incising softest skin. Then Satan kneeled
beside the King of Kings and covered – held
the Lord in deadly form, to smash his face
and call the ref to oversee the pin.
But Jesus kicked his shoulders out at two!
The Savior pumped his ego, shook the ropes,
and took a couple cuffs on iron jaw.
He moved the Devil’s body press with ease,
destroying Satan’s offense, Hogan mode.
The Son of Man, a small but peerless man,
gave Satan seven Hell and Heaven kicks,
then knocked the Evil Angel, standing drops
and whirling locks, and propped the Devil up
against the frosty bars of iron cell.
But Jesus played the part of champ for naught,
for Satan answered pain with putrid smiles.
The Czar of Malik, Hades son of sad
and fatal traps – he grabbed a chair from space
beneath the ring and beat on Jesus hard
without a flinch. The Devil broke the King
of Kings in half; impaled the Christ with spears
and dragon jacked his brow against the cage.
He used the chair as boxers use their gloves
and dropped the Savior down in heaps of blood.
The chair he used, it broke a Holy skull.
The fans were looking now for Savior’s brains;
the match was won, and Satan called the dance –
his special move was tearing off a head
and eating face on dinner plates of bone.
The Lord of Darkness slapped the King around
and set him up a nasty demon slam,
he slayed the Son of Man with double snap
Samoan drops and murdered Christ, the Lord.
So Satan covered Jesus, nailed his wrists,
and won the match without a wound or scar,
the ref had counted fate for one-two-three,
the Lord of Dark retained the golden belt.
The Son of Man was flat inside the ring,
a lifeless body beat by Satan’s wrath.
A doctor declared Jesus dead, said, “gone
for good” as Satan kicked him once for spite.
And God was dead. The people flew in grief,
a mourning mob of zealots down in hope,
as Jesus rest in Peace’s sorry palm –
they fled in floods of vanquished faith and dream –
they left before they chanced to see the King
of Kings get up and shake it off his chin.
The Christ returned a wild man indeed,
with vengeance burning hot on Satan’s belt,
the Son of God returned from Heaven’s lawn.
He fought with rocks upon his hands instead
of fists and flogged the Prince of Hell with full
on busters. Christ the King was thought a ghost,
but whipped the Evil Angel post to post;
Some say he worked his special move, the whip-
a-trip to Crossifix (the blesséd lift
and slam) then pressed the Lord of Darkness to
submit. But fans will never know, because
the bleachers became empty way too soon.
Perhaps the Son of God did win the match,
but only Faith can guess at who’s the champ.
Thanks.
-------------------------------
Jesus vs. Satan in a Cage Match
(for the Undisputed Championship of the World)
For weeks that passed since Satan signed a deal
with Jesus, King of Kings, the meanest son
of God to step inside a wrestling ring,
the Lord of Dark did train with demon’s formed
of Final Judgment – mammoth beasts of huge
proportions sporting gloves of leathered blood.
He fought in Hell with blackened souls that stunk
of shit and sulfur; power slamming imps
and Goblins cursed on Lucifer himself.
As Satan sparred with serpents wearing gear
in vile pits of pus and blood and piss,
the Son of Man was learning body slams
from Michael, judo master – former champ.
The Savior practiced double drivers, front
and back bionic elbows, chicken wings,
and sleeper holds. He learned defensive moves
that guaranteed a shifted twisted limb
to any trick that Lusty Dick might try.
Both fighters knew the rules (the rules were none),
and anything could happen. Jesus Christ
prepared his heart as Satan preached the law:
“A cage will hang above the ring, its bars
will lock of steel,” he spit through broken teeth
and shot, “If fear has cooled your fist, O Lord,
perhaps we strike a deal?” And evil seemed
a solid mass that wet the Dragon’s tongue,
a thick disgusting gel that dripped his mouth.
The match that came before the main event
was live – the Giant trounced the tag team chumps
despite his shattered eye. Yet fans were bored
with Giant’s hook; uneasy men and ghouls
that sweated waves of flesh were hyped to see
the promised Brawl to Right the Fall. They bit
and scratched for closer pews. They sat at home
in slothful trenches worn in couches, eyes
entranced at global broadcast pay-per-view.
The lights went numb and stillness fell the mob,
a muted clamor sought the lite macabre.
A chorus sung by seraphs sealed the space
with song; the place was packed like cigarettes
and Satan’s ticket lit the sticks. The ref
announced Beelzebub as standing seven six.
The fireworks and laser beams were sick
and reeked of vomit. Devil bitches danced
beside the sad abomination, bore
their bellies shedding rancid flesh. And men
were ill while ghouls began to cheer their Prince.
As Satan stood impatient, Jesus, King
Of Kings, descended misty clouds that hung
of Heaven over rafters draped above
the fans – the image caused the crowd to cast
a single tear that cleaned the floor. And God
implored his son to stop the Evil One
by using any means except excess.
The Holy Son had practiced much, and now
the ideal time to test his skills had come.
The lights went hot and Satan stared the Son
of Man with bloody lips. The ring had pulse
that fiercely beat a tribal rhythm. Christ
the Holy Savior, hard as stone on glass,
was tiny measured next to Lucifer –
as small as Dante ducking Mammon’s thumb.
The tension, foul as grease, which fueled the fight
was rank as flies that feast on bile, pus,
and scabs. Both wrestlers readied fists to clash.
The cage was dropped by golden thread that fixed
on rigid bars which trapped the wrestlers tight;
a stringent ref was near, but only God
could end the match – and lunar phases came
and passed before the open hand was dealt.
The mob anticipated grappling moves,
and shots to end the row, but Jesus Christ
and Satan stood as statues watching death.
No turning back, the fight commenced on cue…
The Devil tossed the first destructive blow,
But Jesus ducked and dodged like Junk Yard Dog.
The Son of Man, he grabbed the bitter horns
of Satan, chopped his hoary chest and split
an uppercut. But Satan countered cool
and quick with triple monkey flips. The speed
of Satan’s Judo kick was swift and prompt
to pop the Lord a collapsed chest; he set
the Savior up a Million Dollar Slam
and Jesus hit the mat with brutal force.
Beelzebub, as fast as hornet’s wings,
applied the sleeper hold on Christ the King.
And J’s response: a snapping mare to bow
and arrow double belly breakers, sharp
and jagged. Satan merely retched in joy,
employed a torture rack until the Son
of God went dead with floppy limbs. The Prince
of Darkness, Sin, and Vice, collected Christ
in arms as broad as beams of frozen steel.
He crushed him under running elbows, tramped
a muddy hole and cracked the Savior’s mug.
He picked him off the canvas, bashed his nose
against the cage, which felt like shattered gems
incising softest skin. Then Satan kneeled
beside the King of Kings and covered – held
the Lord in deadly form, to smash his face
and call the ref to oversee the pin.
But Jesus kicked his shoulders out at two!
The Savior pumped his ego, shook the ropes,
and took a couple cuffs on iron jaw.
He moved the Devil’s body press with ease,
destroying Satan’s offense, Hogan mode.
The Son of Man, a small but peerless man,
gave Satan seven Hell and Heaven kicks,
then knocked the Evil Angel, standing drops
and whirling locks, and propped the Devil up
against the frosty bars of iron cell.
But Jesus played the part of champ for naught,
for Satan answered pain with putrid smiles.
The Czar of Malik, Hades son of sad
and fatal traps – he grabbed a chair from space
beneath the ring and beat on Jesus hard
without a flinch. The Devil broke the King
of Kings in half; impaled the Christ with spears
and dragon jacked his brow against the cage.
He used the chair as boxers use their gloves
and dropped the Savior down in heaps of blood.
The chair he used, it broke a Holy skull.
The fans were looking now for Savior’s brains;
the match was won, and Satan called the dance –
his special move was tearing off a head
and eating face on dinner plates of bone.
The Lord of Darkness slapped the King around
and set him up a nasty demon slam,
he slayed the Son of Man with double snap
Samoan drops and murdered Christ, the Lord.
So Satan covered Jesus, nailed his wrists,
and won the match without a wound or scar,
the ref had counted fate for one-two-three,
the Lord of Dark retained the golden belt.
The Son of Man was flat inside the ring,
a lifeless body beat by Satan’s wrath.
A doctor declared Jesus dead, said, “gone
for good” as Satan kicked him once for spite.
And God was dead. The people flew in grief,
a mourning mob of zealots down in hope,
as Jesus rest in Peace’s sorry palm –
they fled in floods of vanquished faith and dream –
they left before they chanced to see the King
of Kings get up and shake it off his chin.
The Christ returned a wild man indeed,
with vengeance burning hot on Satan’s belt,
the Son of God returned from Heaven’s lawn.
He fought with rocks upon his hands instead
of fists and flogged the Prince of Hell with full
on busters. Christ the King was thought a ghost,
but whipped the Evil Angel post to post;
Some say he worked his special move, the whip-
a-trip to Crossifix (the blesséd lift
and slam) then pressed the Lord of Darkness to
submit. But fans will never know, because
the bleachers became empty way too soon.
Perhaps the Son of God did win the match,
but only Faith can guess at who’s the champ.