An epic poem in blank verse that chronicles the timeless spiritual warfare between righteousness and evil, spanning from the primordial rebellion in heaven to the final triumph of divine good. It begins with the fall of the proud Light-Bearer (Lucifer), whose envy ignites a cataclysmic war among the angels, culminating in his expulsion by the Son in blazing glory. The conflict then descends to earth, where the serpent’s subtle temptation in Eden fractures human innocence, ushering in exile, suffering, and the promise of ultimate redemption through the Woman’s seed. Through the ages, the battle rages invisibly in every human heart and mind—portrayed as a joyful home besieged by envious shadows or a fortress under assault by doubt and fear—yet the faithful soul stands armored in truth, righteousness, faith, and the Word of God, quenching the Accuser’s fiery darts. The poem builds toward the apocalyptic climax: the dragon’s wrathful accusations are silenced by the Lamb’s blood, the Lion returns in terrible splendor to crush evil forever in the winepress of wrath, and righteousness reigns eternally in a restored creation where every knee bows, tears cease, and light endures without night.

In regions veiled from mortal sight, where light
First broke into choirs of flame and endless song,
A star rose brightest, called Light-Bearer once,
Whose wings outshone the newborn galaxies.
Yet pride—that ancient poison—stirred inside:
Not born of dark, but of self-exaltation—
And whispered, “Equal to the Throne I stand;
Why bow when I could rule?”

So Heaven quaked.
The crystal vaults resounded with pure wrath
As Michael, sword aflame, led loyal ranks,
While rebel hosts in blackened armor massed,
Forged in the fires of their own envy. Spears
Of shadow flew; the empyrean fields turned
To fields of slaughter where bright seraphim
Bled glory, not mere blood. Three days it raged,
Till He who reigns upon the sapphire throne
Spoke once: “Enough.”
The Son, eternal Light from Light, arose
In chariot of storm and living fire,
And with one glance cast Lucifer headlong
Through ninefold spheres into the burning lake
Of consequence he chose.

Yet war endures.
The serpent slithered earthward, subtle, cold,
And found the Garden green, the woman fair.
No trumpets now, but whispers: “Did God say…?”
The fruit was sweet; the bite brought bitter death.
Righteousness stood naked to the wind
Of accusation. Exile followed—thorns,
Sweat, dust—but not abandonment. A promise
Hid within the curse: the Woman’s seed
Would crush the serpent’s skull.

Through ages runs the battle, unseen yet real—
In every heart a home of light and laughter,
Where loved ones gather, songs rise, peace abides,
But shadows prowl the threshold, envious,
Seeking to enter, snuff the flame, disrupt
The feast, and turn warm halls to empty dread.
In every mind a fortress under siege,
Where doubt flies like arrows, fear like wildfire—
Yet faith stands sentinel, the shield no dart
Can pierce, quenching the Accuser’s fiery lies.

The dragon roars on, vast and many-headed,
His tail sweeping stars from heaven, mouths
Blaspheming still. He accuses night and day
Before the throne—yet Lamb’s own blood
Outcries each charge. The end is scripted, though
The fray continues: the Lion roars, the slain
Lamb returns in glory terrible, to tread
The winepress alone, and hurl the ancient foe
Into fire prepared for him forever.

Then righteousness, long-besieged, shall reign—
No tears, no night, no tempter’s voice—
And every knee in all creation bend
To Him who was, and is, and is to come.