Saint Michaels War Prayer
The sound of heavy jaws munching
... a weeping,
the crack of delicate wing bones.
Earlier, a listless sky
trailing shreds of fear
had been dragged into a cave mouth.
'My angels are grounded tonight', he thought.
The mechanical grinding of molars continues.
A guttural cackling rises from the backyard,
from asphalt parks, and vacant lots.
'When dawn comes creeping
the insane laughter will cease.
The downed angels will rise again,
minus a few fine bones.
The tears of the half-chewed
will burn them.
The bad moon demons
again will suffer the hell
of the dawn’s gastric flux'.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
