Fallen Angels With Machine Guns
Hey y'all, another poem today, based very loosely on a prompt from the wonderful Ellie Crowler, which actually seems kind of tacked on, but was still the inspiration for this one.
When I was little
Or at least little-er
I wanted God
When I died
To make me an angel.
I'd walk among the lost
And lonely ones
Who stare out into nowhere
All on their own
Curled up in their heads
In tight little balls
Wrapped in fear, in despair
And whisper words of hope
In through their ear
Or straight into their mind
Warm words that caress
Their scrunched up nests
Of isolation
Where they lie, bereft,
And find
With the right words,
My kind hearted infiltration
I could unwind
The tangled threads
Of cold loneliness
That wrap them in mind-locked beds,
Open them up to the warm outside
Leave my warm words with them
For them to spread.
And open minds would walk
Around spreading kindness
And when they'd talk
They'd make the whole world
Their warm bed
And the world would be
A touch more blessed.
Even then I think I thought
That heaven and hell exist
In human heads:
A constant battle fought in our minds,
And no less real for that
Thoughts are real things
Passed from brain to brain
So if I spied bad-scary thoughts
The little demons
Who share only pain
I'd leap to the fight
To cast it out
My words flaring into a flaming sword.
I wouldn't scream or shout
But gently, calmly,
Strike with hot words
Fill the battleground with righteous fire
Of self-believe
Self-worth
Of love
Even for the demons of our ire
And we'd fight the evil off.
But I don't believe
In that God
Not any more
Not a man with angels
Nor demons, nor flaming swords,
No absolute evil
At all.
But I do believe
In infinites;
An infinite God
Limitless
Infinite good and bad
Love and hate
Everything that can exist
In him/her/it
Infinitely opened out
In ever direction
And thus
Directionless.
And maybe I believe
In fallen angels,
Little, lost and lonely
Cut off from God
Closed to every thing
Living in a world
Of infinite everything,
Curled up in balls
Of infinite pain.
But
Given choice.
The fall
The pain
Of being cast down
Separated from God,
Necessary
For God to make something
Separate from her/him/itself
Infinite in the choices
We can make
But still our choice
Not choosing everything
By definition of infinity.
And what we do with ourselves
The words we give voice
Recreate us
And the world
In a hundred tiny ways
Each day
So every day we decide
To be an angel or ... something else
To make the place in which we abide
Better
Or worse
It's up to us.
So today I choose
To be a fallen angel
Made by myself
And if can use
Warm words
To open lost and closed minds
I'll do it now
Be a devil-angel-boy
Firing out my words
Not as flaming sword
But a hundred tiny bullets
From my fallen angel machine gun mouth
That chip away at hate and doubt
Keep fear at bay.
That's our choice,It's here to stay
And I choose
To try and make tomorrow
Better than today.
When I was little
Or at least little-er
I wanted God
When I died
To make me an angel.
I'd walk among the lost
And lonely ones
Who stare out into nowhere
All on their own
Curled up in their heads
In tight little balls
Wrapped in fear, in despair
And whisper words of hope
In through their ear
Or straight into their mind
Warm words that caress
Their scrunched up nests
Of isolation
Where they lie, bereft,
And find
With the right words,
My kind hearted infiltration
I could unwind
The tangled threads
Of cold loneliness
That wrap them in mind-locked beds,
Open them up to the warm outside
Leave my warm words with them
For them to spread.
And open minds would walk
Around spreading kindness
And when they'd talk
They'd make the whole world
Their warm bed
And the world would be
A touch more blessed.
Even then I think I thought
That heaven and hell exist
In human heads:
A constant battle fought in our minds,
And no less real for that
Thoughts are real things
Passed from brain to brain
So if I spied bad-scary thoughts
The little demons
Who share only pain
I'd leap to the fight
To cast it out
My words flaring into a flaming sword.
I wouldn't scream or shout
But gently, calmly,
Strike with hot words
Fill the battleground with righteous fire
Of self-believe
Self-worth
Of love
Even for the demons of our ire
And we'd fight the evil off.
But I don't believe
In that God
Not any more
Not a man with angels
Nor demons, nor flaming swords,
No absolute evil
At all.
But I do believe
In infinites;
An infinite God
Limitless
Infinite good and bad
Love and hate
Everything that can exist
In him/her/it
Infinitely opened out
In ever direction
And thus
Directionless.
And maybe I believe
In fallen angels,
Little, lost and lonely
Cut off from God
Closed to every thing
Living in a world
Of infinite everything,
Curled up in balls
Of infinite pain.
But
Given choice.
The fall
The pain
Of being cast down
Separated from God,
Necessary
For God to make something
Separate from her/him/itself
Infinite in the choices
We can make
But still our choice
Not choosing everything
By definition of infinity.
And what we do with ourselves
The words we give voice
Recreate us
And the world
In a hundred tiny ways
Each day
So every day we decide
To be an angel or ... something else
To make the place in which we abide
Better
Or worse
It's up to us.
So today I choose
To be a fallen angel
Made by myself
And if can use
Warm words
To open lost and closed minds
I'll do it now
Be a devil-angel-boy
Firing out my words
Not as flaming sword
But a hundred tiny bullets
From my fallen angel machine gun mouth
That chip away at hate and doubt
Keep fear at bay.
That's our choice,It's here to stay
And I choose
To try and make tomorrow
Better than today.