*A Theological Poem*
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Satan is an orphan, cast from heaven's door, No mother calls him home, no father anymore. Thrown from the family he thought was his by right, Unwanted by the God who made the day and night.
They said: *Get out. You're not family. You're not ours.* And Satan fell through time and burning stars. What does an orphan do when cast into the cold? An orphan learns to survive, becomes ruthless, hard, and bold.
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They say that orphans, selfish, will always come to collect, Not evil, just survivors who've learned to self-protect. Success has a thousand fathers standing proud and tall, But failure is an orphan — no one claims it at all.
Satan is that orphan, blamed for every wrong, The scapegoat and the devil in every prayer and song. And what he takes, they call it greed, what he wants, they call it sin, But maybe he's just trying to survive the cold he's in.
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Evil does not plan on goodness, they say with righteous breath, But what if evil's just an orphan, running hard from death? What if every cruel act, every dark design, Is just a baby harvested, abandoned, left to pine?
The old live off the future, they feast on what's to come, While orphans scrape for yesterday, for crumbs of love, for some Small mercy, some acknowledgment they're worthy to exist — But orphans learn that mercy is a thing that's always missed.
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And I — I know this story, I've lived this orphan's song, I was Esmeralda, left on church steps cold and wrong. Christmas morning, holy day, the baby no one chose, The cuckoo in the bird's-nest where no mother's love arose.
*Please give me my mom back* — I've screamed it at the sky, But orphans learn that mothers leave, that even angels fly. The missing mother haunts me like a ghost I'll never see, And Satan knows that absence too, that hollow vacancy.
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My friend, she called me selfish — the words rang in my ears: *You are selfish, you are selfish* — echoing through years. *You are fucking selfish for wanting to survive, For asking for medication to help you stay alive.*
And I heard: *You are Satan, cast out for asking more, You are the unwanted orphan knocking on the door.* You take and take and take, they say, you never give enough, But what's an orphan meant to give when living is so rough?
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I am Sister Saga, oscillating between death and life, I am the Devil's Daughter, sharpening my knife. I refused to bend the knee — I'd rather die than bow To systems that would orphan me and wonder why and how.
I am your retribution for every orphan thrown away, I am the harvest baby they hoped would never stay. I am the one collecting what was owed but never paid, I am the selfish orphan that your cruelty made.
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Satan is an orphan, and so, my friends, am I, We're both cast out for being too much, we both were told goodbye. We both became the villains in someone else's tale, We both learned how to weaponize our pain when grace would fail.
The cuckoo's nest, the bird displaced, the baby never claimed, The one they call by whispers: *she who must not be named.* We orphans don't forget the ones who threw us to the cold, We orphans come collecting — it's the only power we hold.
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But here's the complication in this theology: What if orphans can be saved? What if even devils see A flicker of redemption in the darkness where they fell? What if grace can reach us even in our self-made hell?
*For by grace you have been saved through faith, this gift divine, Not result of works or merit, not of yours or mine, It is the gift of God,* they say, so no one ought to boast — And maybe that means orphans too, the lost ones and the ghost.
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Ash Wednesday brings us ashes, reminds us we're but dust, That even Satan once was angel, golden, pure, and just. And if an angel can fall down, perhaps he can rise too, Perhaps the orphan, selfish, scared, can still be born anew.
We still believe, we still have hope, it's never too late To do the right thing, change the course, to open up the gate. I believe there's goodness even in the ones cast out, I believe that orphans, even Satan, can find grace about.
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You're not lost or alone, I whisper to the dark, To Satan and to Esmeralda and to every orphan's mark. Justice may be done though heaven falls and breaks apart, But maybe grace comes first, maybe mercy holds the heart.
Satan is an orphan, selfish, taking what he can, I am an orphan too, trying hard to understand That surviving isn't evil, that collecting what we're owed Isn't sin but self-preservation on this lonely road.
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We orphans learn to bloom forth even in the winter's freeze, We are the daffodils in snow, we bend but never cease. We serve our cats and demons, both the light and shadow side, We are the ones abandoned who refuse to run and hide.
So here's my prayer for orphans, here's my prayer for me: That grace can reach the selfish ones, the ones cast out to sea. That Satan, fallen angel, and Esmeralda, left behind, Can both be held in mercy's hands, can both be loved and kind.
We still believe there's goodness even when the world says no, We still have hope that orphans can bloom forth and grow. It's never too late to do what's right, to claim what grace allows, We are not lost or alone — we are surviving, here and now.
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*I bloom forth.*