WRAPPED UP.

Steaming in this cellophane skin of mine
That seals in the tissue of youth
Whilst peeling to prove
Age has no respect for freshness;
Eager to be released of the duties
That no longer suit the beauty of its function,
That once lunched at God’s table
When all were able to see a brighter future
Upon the new planes made;
When angles played card games
And Lucifer wagered a new planet
Against the perpetual void that sustained them.
A hand of course lost by the boss
Who, being a bad loser,
Cast out the winner for his sin,
And damned us all in the process.
The fallen seraph danced with Pan
And made pacts with Man
And came to understand our needs
Much better than He who was beaten,
And as our meat took shape draped
Us in a cape of his own image,
And gave us eternity in which to wear it,
But God and his defeated pride
Took one look and cut our hide time
Down to 3 score and 10 revolutions of the sun,
And abandoned his own boy to
Compound our joy and command
Our wandering minds.
And now, forty four years within my covering,
I sit well passed my pelt’s melting point
Considering the fact that maybe
We should have been more certain of Satan.