Fallen Angels

My view on a world that is far from equal, and those who benefit from such a world.

Fallen Angels

The awakened sleep enlightened, so they can rest their hopes dawning on a god who loves them more than us, although they wish to save the day

Because they turn away from the darkness of this world, lighthearted people are blind as bats

They are not true visionaries

Because they look away from the truth; they see no evil

So what are they good for?

I will not share in this blind faith

The only thing worse than being blind is to see without a vision

I refuse to look through a lens of naivety

Just to see the world the way I want it to be

And I, am just I poem I’ve yet to have written

Like an obituary that is waiting for the ribcage to hug my open-heart

So I do not have time to deal with people who write the rules while I write my wrongs

Just to be sabotaged by angels that don’t know pain, that live in heaven

And I am a hell of a lot more demonic when I see them sleeping on the job

When they should be lighting, and guiding the way to a Valhalla that they don’t belong in

Because they have never fought to survive

Because they’ve already won

And I run the distance

Only to realize my death is the finish line

And I am running for my life, running from questions

And God does not give a f**k

Because I’m not carrying a cross, I am a nocturnal scarecrow coughing mantras

I am carrying the weight of a world’s worth of hate pointed at me like a pistol, while you fiddle with your glockenspiel

And make music from my institutionalism by Lucifer’s crucifixion, dancing to the beat of my heart

The cruellest thing is that god sacrificed strangers, and those who mattered less

To save all his better sons

That Jesus of Nazareth was just another piece of trash called human being that wasn’t worth loving

And we treasure his death, because the only thing valuable about his or our lives is to recognize suffering as selfless

And God made us flawed, so beneath him

Just so that those who are whole, or holy, or homophobic

Can have some half measure of pity

For a weakness, the strong haven’t faced

Because their faces would be masquerades of happiness

If they had any idea what was happening outside their bubble, outside their windows, beyond their picket fences

The world is festering like a rotten heart without a soul

And the only thing that grows in that death

Is me

So excuse me as I lose my composure and call it a poem

And every ignorant son of a b***h who wasn’t born happy, rich, loved, treasured would pay to walk a mile in a holy man’s shoes

And I am worthless

But if I’m in for a penny, I would pound the f**k out of these pretty faces

If they weren’t the only source of light, hope, or escape in this darkness, this nightmare

The only one to turn to, the devil you know

And I am not awakened

So excuse me if I ask your majesty to sleep on it

On top of that pile of violated corpses

Because I know there must be a beautiful sunset somewhere from your viewpoint, your tall tale of a high society so above love, or unity, I am below your level

As I bury my hatred

You are building a stairway to heaven, every step a tombstone, fit for those who walk on others

And I am nothing but your stepping stone, so put your foot down and stop running from facts

But still, I wish you would take me with you

To be one with the stars that cast shadows on fate, glittering in the cityscape like diamonds in the rough

If hope illuminated us like you, shedding light on every evil deed

I suppose even in this dark world, there could be a bright future

But unlike those who sleep soundly, I cannot wake up from this nightmare

Author's Note

I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

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As compared to Mirror's Image, I find this poem more interesting and reader approaching, not because of the images or the graphics you use. These are just secondary things that just help creating a situation for readers or give them a sensible environment but even if you don't poem itself is like painting s beautiful image on canvas and if you succeed that's your master piece.
"THIS IS IT!" I'd say for the poem. I was certainly wanting this. And someday when you'd be a professional, I would love to do the graphics for you. :)
Good Luck!