"Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas!"
said Caesar to Judas and Chiaphas
while they shared Hell's steam bath
vainly rubbing at stains of sin
and mud from the Marsh of Mediocrity.
"Ah! Yes but, any man who his own dream hath,"
Judas said, "is driven by a force akin
to life itself; won't see hypocrisy:
in the far corners of reality,
by sour dregs drunk from the Grail of Greed,
he must needs
forever on envy feed."
There was silence as the three sat sweating
in vapors that arose
from the Cauldron of Boiling Woes
gleaned from those denied entry to Christ's wedding:
heated by flames of fancy
in the Furnace of Fickle Desire,
stoked by gambling and chancy
politics of Democracy's Empire.
"Time to shower!" Chiaphas said,
"in the innocent blood of Saint's who bled,
dying for love compassion's craft conveyed:
let's wash in the Blood of Martyrs betrayed."
They went to dry off
blown by scalding winds
coming off the Wasteland of Wantonness.
"I think that's enough
till God all rescinds;
although I doubt it's us God will bless."
Earth's bowels smoked!
They streaked across glowing pebbly grit
brought in from Sensuality's Quarry
mentioning they felt remarkably fit
and not the least bit sorry.
From loathsome lips of lascivious lust
mocking and blasphemy flew:
remembrance of murders among the Just
and how Jesus they slewÖ
"Come! My friends," Satan's words were slowen,
"Don these vestments of evil wiles woven
from stolen strands of lurid life.
Let us as ghosts
return back thence to strife!"
Meanwhile was heard word
from Jesus as God
out of Heaven's Temple,
up much higher:
"Well, if Hell's not enough
or our Shepherd's Rod,
for such recalcitrance
there is just one place left:
the Lake of Fire!"