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Poem

From on high to the crowded corners
of the world's temples, castles, cathedrals
From frescoes by the hands of grand masters
or sculpted alongside leering gargoyles
cherubs look down from heavenly perches

Many myths abound about cherubs -
they direct desires, prompt passions,
hours to cherubs are lifetimes to us
When believers hear a bell rings
an angel has gotten its wings

Riding cumulus clouds in an aqua sky
Vaulting lightning bolts to earth
Shooting arrows into human hearts
Coyly cowering in naves, abiding deities' demands
Making mellow music, fulfilling dreams denied

When 12th century Gothic sculptors crafted
church cherubs, adoring peasants marveled at
how the honored the Eden Garden fable
By divine right they played their ancient antics

One 15th century cherub mused that
when Raphael painted him, it was
intended that his infantile face
would portray pure sanctifying grace

In 1946, George Bailey of Bedford Falls
had planned his own suicide
Angel Second Class Clarence
was charged with saving him -
after 293 years of wistful waiting,
Clarence would finally get his wings

The godly greet the "Power of Myth",
they know that "...the bell tolls for thee" -
pray, "Appeal to our better angels"
There are no wings for us mere mortals
Only believers hear those bells ring

So, in the vast domain of spirits and angels,
does it seem trivial to be concerned
whether or not a cherub has wings or not,
in the face of this world's "Pandemonium"?
Listen for the bell

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