Satan Is A Fallen Angel
Racing the wind
Challenging sound
Sometimes I believe I can keep pace with light
I'm flying high!
Higher than the stars
I've got beat and rhythm
I've got euphoric joy
I've got strength and power
But most of all
I've got
SPEED
It hadn't been a particularly good poem.
But when I wrote it I had been able to fly. I was flying. Millions and millions of years ago, I had been flying, running for the pure joy of running, flying on winged feet like that Greek god, Hermes I think...the wings are in my brain now, fluttering, cluttering, like the speech disorder, clouding my thoughts so that I can't keep thinking straight...
Panic is winged.
I could FEEL it screaming in me as I pounded towards a corner, turned it, saw the looming darkness, skidded on the floor as I charged back the way I'd come to try a new direction. Like the Windows screensaver, like the bad dream, like that Doctor Who episode I've never seen but have heard about...always running, never ending...except now I must stop, because the blackness...
Ending. Ending now. Not quite so endless then.
Darkness in front. White behind. Just another white wall, shiny, hard to the touch...I'd run past too many in this maze. Godforsaken maze. And in front darkness. Dead end. Darkness of death. Step into it and you die. Right then. Who knows how. Maybe there's pain, maybe there isn't. If I was sure there wasn't pain I'd have stepped into it by now, to get away from the white walls and the endless sameness.
And the darkness took a shape.
It twisted and contorted, half-formed shapes melting away into the swirl, before suddenly, like a cloud is suddenly a horse, then a dragon, and then it was a black lion, twice my height, gazing down at me.
Laughter? I was laughing? Yes, I was laughing, whole body shaking with mirth as I sank to my knees and beat the floor with clenched fists, hysteria welling up inside of me and escaping in maddened giggles. Everything hurt from running, adrenaline and rhythm gone - throat, arms, legs, side, it all hurt, but soon everything would end...on impulse I stuck my arms out straight in front of me and bowed down to Death's Angel.
Then he (do angels even have a gender?) spoke, hollow, dead words from the dawn of time. "There is nowhere left to run," his eyes flicked briefly from side to side, first one bare white wall, then the other. "There was never anywhere to hide." He padded forward and titled my chin upwards with one massive paw.
I bit it.
He tasted like the smell of rain.
"Fight me if you will, but you will lose." The words were calm and measured, cutting through my hysteria. Serenity fell on me like a cloud, and I found myself drawn to his eyes, blood-red diamonds in coal.
"Will you come?"
I didn't hear the words; I felt them.
"Yes. Anywhere."
I didn't say the words. I thought them in pastel colours.
"Come."
Death's Angel turned and padded away; I scrambled to my feet and followed at a run.
Below me spread the Valley of Hell.
Death's Angel turned to me. "Good and bad are never black and white."
Challenging sound
Sometimes I believe I can keep pace with light
I'm flying high!
Higher than the stars
I've got beat and rhythm
I've got euphoric joy
I've got strength and power
But most of all
I've got
SPEED
It hadn't been a particularly good poem.
But when I wrote it I had been able to fly. I was flying. Millions and millions of years ago, I had been flying, running for the pure joy of running, flying on winged feet like that Greek god, Hermes I think...the wings are in my brain now, fluttering, cluttering, like the speech disorder, clouding my thoughts so that I can't keep thinking straight...
Panic is winged.
I could FEEL it screaming in me as I pounded towards a corner, turned it, saw the looming darkness, skidded on the floor as I charged back the way I'd come to try a new direction. Like the Windows screensaver, like the bad dream, like that Doctor Who episode I've never seen but have heard about...always running, never ending...except now I must stop, because the blackness...
Ending. Ending now. Not quite so endless then.
Darkness in front. White behind. Just another white wall, shiny, hard to the touch...I'd run past too many in this maze. Godforsaken maze. And in front darkness. Dead end. Darkness of death. Step into it and you die. Right then. Who knows how. Maybe there's pain, maybe there isn't. If I was sure there wasn't pain I'd have stepped into it by now, to get away from the white walls and the endless sameness.
And the darkness took a shape.
It twisted and contorted, half-formed shapes melting away into the swirl, before suddenly, like a cloud is suddenly a horse, then a dragon, and then it was a black lion, twice my height, gazing down at me.
Laughter? I was laughing? Yes, I was laughing, whole body shaking with mirth as I sank to my knees and beat the floor with clenched fists, hysteria welling up inside of me and escaping in maddened giggles. Everything hurt from running, adrenaline and rhythm gone - throat, arms, legs, side, it all hurt, but soon everything would end...on impulse I stuck my arms out straight in front of me and bowed down to Death's Angel.
Then he (do angels even have a gender?) spoke, hollow, dead words from the dawn of time. "There is nowhere left to run," his eyes flicked briefly from side to side, first one bare white wall, then the other. "There was never anywhere to hide." He padded forward and titled my chin upwards with one massive paw.
I bit it.
He tasted like the smell of rain.
"Fight me if you will, but you will lose." The words were calm and measured, cutting through my hysteria. Serenity fell on me like a cloud, and I found myself drawn to his eyes, blood-red diamonds in coal.
"Will you come?"
I didn't hear the words; I felt them.
"Yes. Anywhere."
I didn't say the words. I thought them in pastel colours.
"Come."
Death's Angel turned and padded away; I scrambled to my feet and followed at a run.
Below me spread the Valley of Hell.
Death's Angel turned to me. "Good and bad are never black and white."