Gargoyles
Gargoyles, gargoyles, in the air,
it sets my heart to fright,
flying on their leathery wings
through the Stygian night.
Gargoyles, gargoyles, I can see
when they emerge from stone,
eyes glowing blue in the darkness
as endlessly they roam.
Most will say that I’m a madman,
see ghosts where there are none,
but I have seen the gargoyles,
even got close to one.
Saw the large, plunging canines
set in a bulldog jaw,
saw spines of the short, stump tail,
by skin that looked rubbed raw.
Saw the curving, dinosaur claws
on digitigrade feet,
saw wire arms and slashing nails
hang down menacingly.
Seen pointed and oversized ears
flanking a brutal head,
and batlike wings that stretch ten feet,
to fill the soul with dread.
And when Father Smith realized
that all this I could see,
he sat me down in a church pew
and explained it to me.
That those horrid gargoyles were
not there to bring me hurt,
in fact, they had a clear purpose:
to guard this very church.
That every night they went hunting
for creatures born of Hell,
they grappled with the Devil’s spawn,
and other creatures fell.
He said only a blessed soul
can ever see them fly,
but I do not feel very blessed
when they take to the sky.
Yet despite their harsh appearance,
the priest gives them the nod,
these ugly creatures somehow are
in the service of God.
If anyone can see inside
I guess it would be Him,
and I suppose judging them so
is just one of my sins.
You may call it human failing,
or irrational fear,
these monsters may be on our side,
I still don’t want them near.
Gargoyles, gargoyles, in the night,
they’re all out hunting now,
I cannot sleep, the only one
who hears their screeches loud.
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2019
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