Saint Michaels War Prayer
The sound of heavy jaws munching -
an angelic weeping,
the crack of delicate wing bones.
Earlier, a listless sky trailed shreds of fear
the goodly being dragged into red cave-mouths.
"My angelica are grounded tonight," he thought.
The mechanical grinding of molars continued.
My seraphim and cherubim, all the innocence
Of long forgiven souls are in peril.
A guttural cackling rises from backyards,
from asphalt parks, and vacant lots.
The gloriously burnished, armored archangel
stands among the trash cans, great sword
held brightly aloft.
"When dawn comes creeping
this insane demonic laughter will cease,
the downed souls will rise again,
minus a few fine bones.
The tears of the half-chewed will burn
all those that prey upon them.
The demented evil doers will suffer the hell
of the dawn’s gastric flux; let them choke upon
the toxicity of our holiness."
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