Power

There was a young man, ne'er do well, traitor, this side of oiled whale skin

who so embarassed God

that the Angel of Death

when sent to kill him

got murdered.

God had this man been through hell,

consigned and conscripted 

for 80,000 years

but he escaped with ease

each time with only eighty dollars

on the books.

God came down 

from his cloud nine 

made of tumultuous lime

to cast him out

to the Nether realms

but this time the young man

unscrewed the medical pins

from his right arm

and said simply "Here, as a parting present

between old enemies

the last Angel you sent

seemed like he could use

a new one to get by

and to shake your filthy green radioactive hand."

Well the man got cast out

to parts of the universe

that even God didn't like

but God, in his infinite wisdom

didn't know what the ulna was for

or how the man

without even so much as a grimace

had unscrewed it from tempered medical plate

and weilded it so efficiently

when he had been stripped effectively

of mortal and immortal weapons.

He remembered the speech

but without the man

he knew

it must have been the stink

of a mortal ego that had become tattered

in Holy Hell.

One day a message came back to god

(by this time he wasn't feeling too capital)

in a letter form

that said "Do Not Duplicate"

and inside was nothing

but a piece of parchment

with a left hand print in dark maroon

that looked like blood

that looked like blood

that smelled of wine.

The new Angel of Death

told god to his face

"Your ego

is that disgusting,

from now on, I'm siding with Him."