Angels With Their demons

by John Ciarmello

I repose beside the devil–while he bathes in molten rock.

Then, give voice to the Angels as they shear God’s Golden Flock.

“I’m not anymore a sinner than the souls that dwell with God.”

On earth–raised a true believer but then bequeathed his burning rod.

I fought disgruntled darkness to praise God's welcome rise.

Then I drank the churning vehement–offered by this father of all lies.

“There are no new beginnings afterlife has passed you by.

Angels with their demons–are satan’s specters crucified.”

Flushing through my brain, these commandments of the (K)kongs.

satan ordered me to denounce His Birth. God never told me he was wrong.

I live a life of yin and yang–depictions volley between these (K)kings.

I float atop the lava tides–and cool beneath the Angel's wings.

I pull on all my Sunday best–thoughts resound this morning, err.

I dip my fingers in His sacred drops–and cross my forehead there.

Our family pew–their voices rise–I bow my head in courted prayer.

Then, summoned to His altar bread, the devil rewrites his doctrinaire.

I join in hyme–His house of prayer, singing His holy praise.

I then snigger at their impiety–the pews contort into satan’s maze.

Frantic, lost parishioners shed their Holy face.

I push my way through their hypocrisy into satan’s burning grace.

Then, I sip the wine, deemed His blood, and it thickens on my lips.

I stand to sing in choir praise, hymns masked in generalship.

I spread derision in the Church that day, the priest begging me to repent.

Full of the body and blood of Christ and satan’s guttural dissent.

Now, what more is there to render from the dripping jowls of rife?

When One provides His bloodied Chalice, and the other his whetted knife.

I retreat from this duo–to allow neither in my life.

But raised in mind-molding subjection, I’m forced to satan’s strife.

I’m weary of groping darkness to denounce satan’s glaring lies.

I’m weary of groping brightness to find God’s righteous wells run dry.

There are no new beginnings–afterlife has passed you by.

You’re an angel with its demons–a specter crucified.

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Please note that this is not directed at anyone on this site. I took some liberties with the stanza sequences. All of you true poets and poetesses, please forgive me. :)

Intended interpretation:

This is about a man lacking religious direction. In the same breath, he accepted and denounced the Lord due to an upbringing that attempted to teach him what was good but fell short of teaching him what was evil.

A man who is fighting his way through religious hypocrisies that direct his soul into the darkness and his mind into madness.

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Why the devil sometimes wins

Angels With Their demons

by John Ciarmello

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