I’m Temptation

You love me. You hate me. You need me.

I’m greed, I’m speed, I can help you succeed. But you can’t stop me burning.

I’m a wheel, I’m a deal, I can give you good feel. But you can’t stop me turning.

I’m a weed, I’m a seed, I can make your insides bleed. But you can’t stop the yearning.

I can lead, I can plead, I can slyly mislead. But you can’t stop returning.

My eyes glint with mischief and game. My roguish grin ignites my face aflame. And I slink through the shattered night. I am Temptation, and I can wrap your world around my tail.

I am a shape-shifter, a master of disguise. I am your seductive lover steeped in sensuality. I’m your charming salesman with a persuasive personality. I’m your devious politician with a dishonest sense of authority.

I revel in the power to tie your mind into knots. With just a whispering hiss, I can sway your thoughts. I can make you betray your friend for a few vain silver coins. I can make you sell your soul. And even make you change your name.

I am a tempter, a seducer, and I thrive on the thrill of the chase. I love to watch you struggle with your inner demons, torn between your desires and your conscience. For it is in these moments of your weakness that I am strongest.

Yet, I impulsively look up towards the master on the silver mountain. He sits with closed eyes. As though he is tired. Tired of the mouths that chant “lead us not into temptation” but thoughtlessly quench their thirst for the forbidden. Tired of those who senselessly utter clichéd prayers. And tread dirty paths in the dark and wash their consciences clean in the light. Their bodies are clean, but their souls are stained.

I wasn’t always like this. I’d made just one conniving offer that couldn’t be resisted. And that was a long time ago. And I have been in demand ever since.

But now I’m sick. Sick of being loathed by the same people who love me. The same people who exploit me, and can’t be happy without me.

Where do I take this pain of mine? 

So I raise my wretched eyes onto the mountain and cry out to the master. He opens his eyes, bringing me to shame. Oh, what have I done? What have I become?

Then I look down into the chasm of the fallen angel. Amidst the darting flames, he glares at me. His black heart is scarring darker still. With unblinking eyes, he says he’s not to blame. 

I can hear someone screaming my name.

No, now the world doesn’t need me anymore. You, mortals, can raise hell from where you stand very well.

So I must go. I have danced my last dance. I have sung my swan song.

I strongly believe that the master on the silver mountain will not stay angry forever. He will show mercy.

So I plead. I cry. I beg. Oh Master, please make me holy again.

I feel the awe of his holy presence. And as I fall into a heap of unconsciousness, I wonder. Where will I finally rest?

On the wrong side of heaven or the righteous side of hell?