Last night,
I walked through a field of dead Angels,
their halos tarnishing before my eyes, yellowed blood
leaking from theirs. From the floating orbital – street lamp – orbs, hung
Cherubs, with pieces or parts missing.
The heavenly whiteness of the place was smoke tinged, the air was a
greasy black smudge.
A cello played on repeat, it wept in deep baritone sobs, then screeched its
guts across my ears tirelessly.
I turned to look for any signs of hope, for life, but the air was so desolate.
Depravity hung like a dead cat from a fence post.
Even the sun sank dark. Gold poured over with lead.
I gasped and blinked, and rubbed my eyes. I laid down and pretended to
sleep, so when I opened them again I would be back in the functioning steel
world I know and love. But it was no use. All great and good things rotten
with no light shining a path. Carnage, is the path I walked through. Until a
new sun rose.
Voiceless I move on.
Heaven is the only Hell I’ll ever know.
Poetry in the Dark 