One Angel Per Pinhead Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

The wings are delicately balanced,
As I have learnt the art of only one foot on the pinhead.
They are all looking at me as I hover, aren't they?
No doubt admiring my greatness as I sweep the wind of the world.

Vatican scholars have long pondered how many we are,
Well the answer is, only one. There can be, only one.
Because I am alone in my uniqueness, alone because of my uniqueness,
Alone because I can no longer tolerate those who don’t bask in my holiness.
There are those whom I want to be there, but who don't envy this life on my pinhead.
How dare they!

I can't imagine that there are those fools
who actually don't need this feeling of uniqueness.
Don't want this greatness, hate the pedestal,
prefer a quiet life, don't need the adrenalin.

I have been trying to force those fools to want to be part of my greatness.
Persuasion did not work. Damn it, there are some who still refuse.
These ones will be cursed. I will curse them. I will hunt them down.
I will speak against them in sacred places, in fact I will speak against them everywhere,
out of context. It is my right!
I will condemn them in public, because they don't need what I demand they should want.

Usually aspirers are content with a library named after them,
but such aspirations are trivial compared with my worth.
Some become knighted, others sanctified, but only I know what they cannot know,
there can be only one angel per pinhead.