Superman in the Vein of Paradise Lost

One of my classes had a creative writing option where we could choose one author and adapt a portion of their work.  I figured writing about Superman like John Milton made perfect sense.  It's just an excerpt, so the story has no ending and it begins in medias res.  It has some formatting issues and I'm still not happy with some of the word choice, but it was still a really fun project to work on. I wrote this a few months after the HP oil spill and you can see how the conflict in the poem was inspired by my own feelings of helplessness.  I'm curious to see what you all think, and constructive criticism is always welcome.

Last Hope

The perfect man who fell from the sky, blessed by the yellow Sun,

Expelled from his own doomed world by desperate scientists,

The parents he would never know, discovered on this Earth by one

Kindly couple, they guided his morality through their mortality;                 

Alienated as a child, ignored as an adult, ridiculed his whole life,

Loved by his friends and hated by his enemies,  

He floats as a silent vigil above his fragile new home. 

Eyes glowing crimson pierce the nebulous layers of sky,

Gazing through the clouds and down upon an inky blanket

Spreading slowly across the Pacific blue. 

His ears ring with the cries of thousands,

Coughing and shrieking to each other for aid,

Struggling and stretching in vain to escape the blackness.         

His nostrils flare at the scent of the petroleum boiling beneath the ocean,

and for a moment he is afraid he is not fast enough.

     Then he is wrapped in darkness, a black unlike that of space,

sinking further into the abyss. He spots the bubbling trail of a burst pipe. 

The water is swollen with hydrocarbon gases.   

He glares succinctly and the wound of the sea is mended.  

He watches the last slithering tendrils creep out of the pipe,

Now welded shut, the lingering oil floats slowly upward.     

 A red and blue blur bursts from the ocean and then disappears.

He never stops hearing the cries of the thousands drenched in oil,

As he drifts up, up and away into the stratosphere

He knows the damage is extensive, on a global scale,

But he continues to help wherever he can.

Far beyond our fragile, iridescent solar system,

Deep into the dismal blackness of the universe,

Where suns are swallowed greedily by tyrants, and

Cosmic pain stretches across galaxies like the plague,

Darkseid the Omega, ruler of the planet Apokolips, the Bane of Orion

sits alone in the stillness of finality. It was not always so; he remembers

Scouring the galaxy for the Anti-Life Equation, for his end

And the end of everything, for he is Dark Side. Darkseid is.

This was before the Kryptonian and his League, before the Bat even.

One hand, coarse and solid as concrete, clutches tightly to his cold

Throne, while the other supports a brow heavy with pitiless reflection, 

When suddenly the Dark One’s meditation is interrupted; purple dust 

Fills the air, only to condense again into a tiny man, smirking widely,

Bobbing freely in the air, while Darkseid continues his sallow practice.

Mister Mxyzptlk momentarily shivers, taking off his derby hat and

Wiping the beading sweat from his pink forehead.  He speaks briskly

Into the dark, with a high-pitched voice resembling that of a cherub,

“Why the long face chum? Can’t you see the brighter side o' things?”

He laughs heartily, disappearing and reappearing on his shoulder,

Causing the corners of the tyrant’s mouth to lower even further.

“I did just as you said guv’.  The ol’ pot’s a-brewin now, yes sir!”

The Dark One’s eyes flash with approval.  Licking leathery lips,

He spoke unto the darkness, and the little man shivered again:

“You have done well Mr. Mxyzpltk, to unleash my hell.

Yet that façade of yours is testing my patience.  Do you not think I can

Stomach your true form?”  Mxyzpltk simply smiles and states:

“The dimensions of my home are numerous and incomprehensible,

Even to the eyes that wield the Omega Force, I would be no more to you

Than a cloud of dust in the wind.”  Darkseid nods knowingly,

“Yet you linger so tirelessly in lesser dimensions. Surely,

It is not the quest for mischief that belabors you so willingly?”

“The eternal quest,” Mxzypltk replies, giggling. “Yet we persevere.”   
     "Perhaps you endeavor to trivial nonsense. My aspirations are greater, 
      For I have already found a higher animus," the grey king proclaims.

The art included also partly inspired the words.

Fans of All-Star Superman may notice some of the diction of the poem is similar to that comic's famed first page, which brilliantly details Superman's origins with four panels and eight words. I guess that was my attempt at an homage. Take a look at the page below and decide for yourself!