I See Angels

I enjoy the idea of an angel of death, a representation of death personified in the form of a heavenly messenger. This, well, is kinda a poem expressing that interest, a vague symbolism involving it.

The Angel of Death, a cold, yet bonnie lass,
flew through the battle-torn field at last.
With eyes like fire and lungs like tempered steel,
her hands were the ones atop the wheel.

As she soared in the looking glass above, she cackled.
When she ripped out hearts and limbs, her own heart crackled.
Once the soldiers’ eyes fell upon her shapely form,
they knew the eyes of the gods would remain forlorn.

Shots were fired, and the soldiers took cover.
They tried to run. But above them, the angel did hover.
Unable to escape their lives as they were their deaths,
some slit their throats, breathing their final breaths.

But, others wouldn’t be taken quite so easily.
No �" these men were too hateful, too focused on their party, too wrathful and quite too hardy.
Their loves would be protected by the ways they were seeing: their families and their society,
their way of life and their way of being, which she would not e’er ne’er see.

When gods die young, the living won’t bother:
not brothers and sisters, not even fathers.
Unto the angel, like unto the moon, we all shall come to fruition and bloom…
…in this concrete jungle-based version of our own nigh-drawn, withering tombs.

The Angel of Death, so full of wrath,
she raised a lone hand and the armies of the sea did clash.
The kraken was loosed and so was Hell,
but the will of the lions were ne’er felled.

Now, it is known that gods die too,
that even those in the sky don’t dare turn blue.

Reviews

[Michael Miranda]

I love this poem, such power and finesse with words. Great stuff!