We crossed Heaven county border lines,
unto the bright Angelic host of purifying trumpets,
and lights to be seen and heard,
for a thousand nights.
We peeked a moment at the angels,
of Michael Gabriel Azrael and Raphael,
and absorbed religions, statue to statue.
But we are not s easy with belief,
and in faith we fall shorter.
You're a tiny temptress,
who plays chess and board games,
of my easy sins.
Our sins are forgiven though,
but by who?
I can't say.
They preach to us,
but you cover your eyes and ears,
like seraphim wings,
dulling yourself to every message,
every golden retribution,
chance after chance,
dust to dust.
Ash to ash,
we fall back down,
give us this day our daily bread,
'Eli Eli lamma sabacthani',
where will you send me?
Paradise that fell,
into oceans of lost redemption.
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Comments about this poem (Angelology by Nicholas Peter )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
William Ernest Henley
(1849 - 1902)
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