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In Heaven once a shining star was born
His name was Metamorphus, and he was
The brightest and the cleverest of all
The most compassionate and weak of heart
He reveled in the joy that was all life
He looked for inspiration in all that
Which lived and loved, and knew the beauty of
Sweet heavenly earth wherein all things were
A source of wonder and sublime delight
So deeply his heart bled for all mean beings
But then one day this star was overcome
A wretched demon set his sights on him
A wrathful piece of refuse straight from Hell
Called Belua took him within his sights
Weak Metamorphus he did swiftly slay
He killed that foundling soul and dragged it down
To his demonic lair in a Pit
Of putrid bodies he had long since claimed
A putrid Pit of rot and of decay
A place where spirit cannot live, nor hope
A place where only he will have his say
He was the damned Belua, monstrous thing
A monster never since, much less before
Existed ever; his was the sole reign
Of all things putrid and contaminated
His very visage far beyond decayed
Good Metamorphus he abruptly took
Down to his lair foul and obscene
He looked on him with the most impure lust
And vowed to break ev’ry last part of him
And so he did with every waking breath
He speared and violated him and then
Subjected him to endless years of pain
He waved his spear around like a dull stone
Some dreadful charm of self-deluded strength
A possible threat deadened by the state
Of its sad nature coming all to naught
From then that lout tormented Metamorph
Or once he was, but now, a helpless child
A wretched and disgusting piece of soil
Was he that promised to be more than all
And in that heat of Hell his soul transformed
No more an angel made for love and peace
Of goodwill and of friendship between men;
Instead he now became a demon through
The torture and humiliation got
To him although he tried to cast it out
He once embraced this nature and from then
A demon was, a monster through and through
So great his hate, so powerful his spear
Forged in the hungry fires of his mind
It was a spear greater than Belua’s
It was a weapon destined for revenge
His count’nance full of hate that Belua
Could never e’en begin to contemplate
His body now becoming something else
He grew and fed on hate until he was
Now something quite entire: him transposed
Into a beast which far exceeded his
Tormenter: now revenge was rightly his
He thought of blood and pain and felt himself
Fill up on that anticipation sweet
His ready soul thought only now on pain
Delicious pain that hopefully would sate
The appetite Belua gave to him
He broke out from his chains and then he clawed
At his tormentors: weak demonic chodes
Who tried to flee from his superior wrath
But whose blood he would soon be licking off
His spear unmatched; but now it was the time
To show Belua just what cruelty was
To give him pain as only a real man
Can do, and render him the shit he is
Such that not even he can try to save
A reputation never known besides:
So lonely and unknown Belua’s fate
Not one soul ever would recall his name
Not one would ever miss his presence foul
He was the bitterest demon of all
And in that knew his life was ne’er but shame
So Metamorphus took his spear in hand
He brought with him a spell upon his lips
These all designed to decimate his foe
Humiliate him and to torture him
To give him ten times more than ever could
His weak imagination e’er conceive
His death would be so painful and so slow
The most sadistic demons looked away
Now Metamorphus had completed his
Great transformation into the worst beast
That ever dwelt in Heaven, Earth, or Hell
All his past fellows quickly turned on him
Condemning this demonic change of face
The demons for their part were quick to spread
Away; not quick enough though they did feel
The all-enduring wrath of his revenge
So finally when he defeated all
The lesser demons that once tortured him
He grinned and set his sights upon
The one which had originally killed
His better self which now he didn’t know
The only thing he knew now was to sate
His overwhelming bloodlust like to sake
A terrible and crushing thirst which must
With blood be satisfied, if only once
He took his giant spear and with it thrust
Into the rotted body of his foe
He twisted it and so he made him know
The utmost pain and torture ‘fore he died
Belua begged and pleaded with the king
He said “my spear can’t match the strength of yours
Please let me live at the least as a slave
I’ll do whatever you could think to say”
But Metamorphus saw beyond this ploy
He gave a laugh like thunder in a storm
He didn’t deign to give a full response
Instead he simply twisted in his spear
He took the smallest knife and then he said,
“You don’t deserve me but I’ll do what I
Am bound to do as fits your many crimes
No suffering can match the pain I’ve felt
I cannot ever match the things you’ve done
But here’s a start: please know I can’t enjoy
This violence to your body since you are
The lowest excrement that ever was
Shat out into the world, and so I say
This is impersonal and nothing more
Than unadulterated justice made pure form”
And so he dug his knife into that beast
He twisted it around and saw the blood
All pouring out: a symbol of his pain
He knew his enemy had suffered then
He was not satisfied with Belua
After his death he turned on all that lived
Existed now to only deal in pain
And death: a force that all would learn to fear
He reveled in their torture and their pain
All fueling him and turning him into
The very prince of hell that none can beat
A monster to which none could e’er compare
The monster dead, the universe could breathe
He rendered it a quiet, blank locale
And so the world of Metamorphus was
At last a silent and a peaceful place
Now nothing stirred above him or below
And all was still: an empty nothing now
And so he took his throne reluctantly
Not knowing what the universe should be