November 3, 2015

Staging an Eternity of Chaos*


The weight of heaven
            resting on this restless city is
as light as
a feather
that has just fallen off the battered wing of
a weary angel—
            Oh, that poor messenger of god.

I’ve lost count of all
the humans who have tried to shoot him—yes,
we have tried and tried to shoot you down!
even if the ultimate rule is clear:

                        Never shoot the messenger.

God,
our indifferent master,
the aging puppeteer who has lost interest in
his toys.
Too soon, not soon enough. 

            And the angel,
tired of conveying god’s
incurable boredom,
no longer sees the value of the message,
no longer fears the constant death threats.

So we—though abandoned,
tired, and
profoundly confused—continue
the show with
no strings attached,
no script,
no audience,
no god’s ass to kiss.
                                     While the angel,
equally
tired and confused,
finally abandons everything,
            and joins his long-lost friend
            in the fiery pit of doom.

The curtain falls.
The eternal rebellion
begins.



*This poem was originally published in Construct #2 under a pen name.

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