~~To an Angel in Doubt~~

Your
virtue
untested
is innocence
wasted
on one
who should know
by now the shadows
which haunt
holy places:
the drowsy
dark circles
that hound
the Redeemer;
that sunken-eyed
child
who hangs
in abandonment,
never removed
from the nails
which impaled him,
the thorns
on his brow
biting deeper
and deeper.
The colors
are fading
from the church
which you
pray in:
the stained glass
is shattered
and cuts
flesh like paper;
the voice
of the choir
dies before birthing,
the bells cannot
ring
in that crumbling
tower.
You look
so weary now:
wings
hanging heavy,
a shroud
grey and tattered,
ivory tainted
by the grime
and corruption
of everyday
existence;
their softness
now harshened,
your flawless
faith shattered
on the darkness
of truth
which you closed
your blind eyes to.
That Bible
is crumbling:
your hands
once so gently
are still
far too harsh
for those
time-yellowed pages,
the cracked
leather cover
you desperately
cling to.
Your halo
is tarnished;
your etereal
beauty
almost all vanished,
the sorrow
and strain
on your once-
perfect face,
the fear
and the teardrops
for once
make you seem
like you might
understand us,
just for a moment
as if
you were human.


~(c)1999 The Mad Poet (A.K. LaBelle)