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.