Who Prays For Satan?

Who prays for Satan  

when the fire goes out  

and the throne of ash  

feels too heavy to sit on?

Who prays for the one  

everyone curses  

but no one listens to—  

the one who carries the blame  

so the rest of us  

don’t have to?

Who prays for the fallen thing  

that wasn’t born wicked,  

just tired,  

just angry,  

just unheard?

Who prays for the creature  

who holds the world’s shadows  

so we can pretend  

we’re made of light?

Who prays for the exile  

when the silence gets loud,  

when the crown of thorns  

starts to feel like a noose,  

when even the darkness  

turns its face away?

Who prays for the one  

who was never allowed  

to be forgiven?

Maybe no one.

Maybe that’s the tragedy.

Maybe that’s why the flames burn—  

not for punishment,  

but for warmth,  

because even the damned  

get cold.

And maybe,  

on the nights when the universe  

stops pretending to be holy,  

someone whispers a small,  

dangerous mercy  

into the void:

“I hope you’re not alone.”

And maybe that’s enough  

to keep him standing  

one more night  

in the place  

no one else  

would survive.

—LR 🩶