Wednesday, 24 December 2008

An Angel Gets Its Wings Clipped

Upon the virgin birth’s eve, all over inside,
None dare break the silence, the least would abide;
The laundry to dry by the fire set forth
A portal’s emergence from magnetic north.

The offspring were huddled in fear for their lives,
As oft presaged beings emerged from their hives;
The lady'd her snot rag, so I kept my space,
For the winter’s disease spreads best face to face.

Then somewhere outside there occurred quite a banging,
I leapt to the window to find my spawn hanging!
Quick under the bed, like a coward I hid
Mourning in shadow, the young life they undid.

Outside, the blood flowed to the fresh whitened earth,
Rousing the golem into drunkenly mirth;
Then, down from Lodestar fell a demon-like howl
From a sky faring luge with a bow like a trowel.

With a hellish beast of a driver as such,
I knew it spelt doom when he let out its clutch;
More rabid than devils his charger it spun,
As he puffed and snorted some ominous pun:

“The birth of your master is upon us indeed!
And the flesh that he offers is on what I feed!
Come out of your shelter, resistance is futile!
Onto you! Into you! all through you my bile!”

As everything into a current would be whirled,
Sucked into its vortex as the matter all curled,
So up with a groundswell his vessel did void
The rest of my children, my spouse it enjoyed.

And then with a grinding I heard in the hull,
The earsplitting wailing of each desperate soul.
As I threw up my hands just to hide from the sight,
A vanishing vapor framed the hideous Knight.

He was covered in hair, from his hoof to his head,
And his face was quite ashen, as if he were dead;
Blood–covered whiskers were like tusks from his mane,
And he looked like a sportsman and grimaced in pain.

His eyes -- how they fooled with their empty placation;
His grin showed great teeth, for raw mastication!
A torturing taunt came with bellows of wild,
Bits in his spit, bones from my own child!

A clump of fresh skin clung just near his breath,
As the drone of his engine foretold a sheer death;
He growled to the night, a right sinister cry,
And I cried when I heard it, thought I surely would die.

The black of his stare and the coil of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had ever to dread,
Though he paid me no mind and went back to his ship,
I still heard him deride, ere it twirled to a blip,

That while this time of the year the darkness relents,
“It’s your night that’s still young and not me who repents!”

"He's already got charge of the bank. He's got the bus line. He's got the department stores. And now he's after us. Why?"
Bailey's Bedford Falls