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Clarion Write-a-Thon, Day 33: OSI – “Angels”

In addition to the Clarion Write-a-Thon, I’m also participating once again in the fun that is One Single Impression. If you enjoy poetry and awesomeness (and I know you do), why not pay them a visit?

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The prompt this week over at One Single Impression is “angels.” Now, I have written about angels before (in fact, I wrote about one in particular in a story for this blog), but in general I’ve found myself reluctant to tackle the idea of heavenly emissaries. I think my discomfort can be traced directly back to Christopher Walken’s incredibly creepy portrayal of Gabriel in “The Prophecy.”

Also, my mother actually collects angels, which makes shopping easy for the most part, but sitting under the glazed, inhuman eyes of her collection difficult. That aside, angels infuse our collective mythos and culture, and regardless of whether that is a good thing or a bad one, they’re most likely here to stay.

Thinking about angels made me think about those of us with feet of clay, and how, despite our surly attitudes and lack of cool wings, we are the ones who claim the birthright as children of God instead of settling for “employee” like Azrael and his pals. And so, without further ado, I give you:

ANGELS

They are forever.
They soar across bright heavens,
Aflame with divinity.

While those of us here
Scratch and claw and love and laugh
For four score and ten.

From the Garden gate,
(Where the flaming sword’s now used
As a bug zapper)

To the highest choirs,
(Where solemn Seraphim sit,
Contemplating Him)

The angelic hosts
Fill the spaces of between,
crowding the heads of pins.

And on the wide Earth,
The children of men strive to
Fill their space as well

At play in the fields
of this azure marble, Vice
blending with Virtue.

On Earth as it is…
Everywhere else, they suppose.
And the angels watch.

One must wonder if
They are ever troubled by
what they see below;

If, in hearts that have
Beaten for millenia,
Rebellion now stirs;

If their ancient eyes
Shine not with angelic love
Or gentle reproach,

But with suppressed and
indignant anger, taking
little comfort from

The Ineffable Plan

(And yet…)

Far from Heaven’s Gate
Six billion souls turn their gaze
Upward and cry out.

Each one feeling at
Some point the thunder of wings
In their secret heart.

Each one knowing, if
They’ve courage enough to peer
Into that same heart.

That every single
Hairless ape’s lifted beyond
Themselves on bright pinnae

That every single
Soul seeks not salvation but
Simply to come home.

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