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an allegory: THE WAR OF ANGELS AND DAEMONS

Posted by kid_A on March 30, 2002, at 22:01:57


THE WAR OF ANGELS
AND DAEMONS


the daemons are
amassed, red, black
skin-- smooth like the
Christo-Reichstag

dark wings that rape
the strangled flowers
in their shadows, crawling
to the sun like beggars

fingers like grub worms
clutching spinning swords
as howitzers

creeping upon you like
midnight, covering your
body in soot, swallowing
you whole like lions

eyes like pyres, black
and dark as sharks, burning
the death rejoice-- ropes
of misfortune

their eyes bloom orchids
they are a hearth of
burning flowers, a kiss
in every petal

they walk as you walk
they pantomime your steps
as scarecrows stuffed
with straw

they belong to you as
sure as the thumbs that
shut your eyelids inside
the requiem

call to them, legion,
for they are many, walking
through the earth, and
up and down in it

your angels, clad in
their robes and nightgowns
sandaled feet and a
crown of daisies

a small army of stickmen
the wind blows through
their ribs like water

their hands paper, naked
and cut as turkeys, eyes
empty upon the sky

wings made of cellophane,
barely lifting them
from their God, they
hover like falling
stars

faces like nazi plates
white and without
feature, plain as a
naked cross

their eyes, coal,
though you might mistake
them for diamonds, as they
may be in time, in time

steady the combatants
stand in columns, the
clouds looking down like
judges, waiting for
rain

and they rush! a clash
of armour and skin! the
blood of spectres that
is not blood

the wings flapping like
newborn butterflies
their hands clutching
clawing, tearing apart

the fog of war shrouding
the toy soldiers like
a dress, a summer dress
as beautiful to be born in

the angels sing, they laugh
and dance around their foe
as it is their nature

the daemons wail, they cast
their dark upon the ground
like Mt. saint Helen

we claw at the air from
beneath the water, smothered
by the razors of armoured
hands

for a time the angles sing
triumphant, the stations of
the cross their story

but their song is a tease
it lingers for a while then
becomes a whisper, licking
the air like dogs

and the horde overwhelms,
as the angels retreat, deep
into their psyche

oh God, my God, build me
a ship of armour unlike any
other, let me fight

but God, in his wisdom laughs
and knows the fight is
already from you

the angels are smothered in
flowers, each of them tramped
updon by metal boots

and a riddle tells, it will
always be this way

yet some of you, in evil
congress of fist and flower
laugh an equinox of joy and
sorrow.


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poster:kid_A thread:21195
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20020325/msgs/21195.html