A change for something new, can be seen in the eyes in many ways, but those stuck with in the line, of what is said to be only seen as black and white. Yet the color of pure was only that left for the world. There was no point in breaking it.
But that didnâ€™t something to forms riffs of life itself. Straining those goose feathers hues of deathâ€™s cloak, dirtying the flesh to match that ash of burnt wood, eyes of light turned dim, sour amber, toxic that still those who dared to look in them.
The body; thrown down from the clouds, breaking layers of earth, until finding the blank center of black stone and tunnels. Scared head to toe from the deep fall, ripping away all that was left of beingâ€™s past self.
Leaving the being is, to sit in the dark hellhole for who knows how long. Having the harsh stones, pitched the flesh resting on top of it. Able to see all but nothing at all, through the darkness of the beingâ€™s fails, to branch out, fixing the world in what this being deem true.
Even when others thought now, back then and now, divided of this theory. It only leaves to choose of who was right, and who was wrong.
Having, this dark presence flinch away from all that deem too holy for eyes to just, even that of a lone feather, of a brother falling upon his side, in those lone burrows.
A sign, small and bright, nothing close but a reminder that it was a choice, made by only one. Though it burn the already dark skin, it remain by his side, as a promise that world needs balance.
Even, when, those above, define it in their own way. The fallen angel knows well enough, that there needs to be black and white, not only a bleak meaning for those human eyes to be blinded. Thatâ€™s not this world works.
And it takes only those, who rebel, to notice it.
Not caring of how others see it, making him the bad guy, is just a sign, that in some way, itâ€™s a way of agreeing to what he does. Itâ€™s how, that fallen messes with your mind, by having you see it from them of heaven, and those of his plaguing eyes.
Leaving only you as the judge, of is true or not. For, if not careful, you might be like him, having no one else, but that lone feather of a dear one.
Balance is your only key from loneliness.
Lucifer by Franz von Stuck
Painted in the year 1890
Location of when painted; unknown