# #

Monday, July 20, 2009


I met an angel. No, there was
no halo, nimbus or radiant light,
no corona or presence with an aura.

I do not know if it was male or female;
it came just as a distraction, a diversion
of sorts, from an unholy alliance.

A pact I would gladly make,
not for the sake of fortune
or fame but for love.

Yes, I would sell my soul to feel again,
that which sets my heart on fire; I
would burn, to know the heat of passion.

I would have fought Michael himself,
to know what it takes to make one’s
fists clench and body convulse within.

Then, there he was; I say he, because I
believe him to be; a calming, soothing voice
from a distance, preoccupying my thoughts.

And in my head I hope he will stay,
that voice in my ear, gripping my attention,
until I’m strong enough to stand on my own.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

The poem as a whole is, to me, very reminiscent of Elizabeth Gilbert. She said in _Eat, Pray, Love_ that you can tell what type of spirit you've encountered by the feeling it leaves with you once it's gone. While I have little to say about the verse and canter, not being a poet myself, I appreciated the communication of that hard-to-define experience of recognizing an ambiguous deity in the heat of conflict. I, too, have had this moment and know how difficult it is to communicate. I often start with, "I once met a god in Marseilles," but I'll tell you that story later. ;-p Good work!