Keep the Faith
Dethroned Angel
I can see the hesitation in your eyes, angel, though your lips are parting to reply. It was a simple question, one you should answer without trepidation. But there is a pause after I speak, a pause that is simply too long. You look at me with those bright golden eyes that seem to plead for my forgiveness. I had asked one simple thing, "Where's your hope?" You should have looked at me incredulously and replied in that second that it's in you. But you don't speak now; you merely look at me.
"I don't know," you finally answer, lowering your gaze to the floor. Why are you so frightened, my angel? Why can't you look me in the eyes?
Answer me angel, "Where has your faith gone?" You don't answer, carefully examining the dirt-streaked rubber on your worn shoes. And I begin to laugh as I stare at your bowed head. There is absolutely nothing funny in this situation, nothing at all. But life is a joke, isn't it angel? Isn't life just a damned game we can't afford to lose? So I'll laugh at it, angel, laugh at the punch line driving bruises into my skin. Life is a joke.
"Life isn't a joke," you have said on occasion, frowning at our needless laughter.
"If life ain't just a joke, then why are we laughing?" I always replied, despite the fact that you always made me wonder: Why am I laughing?
"Because you're deranged," you would always say, a smirk on your lips as I laughed again. Oh angel, what have they done to you? Have they reduced you to this? Have they dethroned you, cast you into a deep pit because you have changed? Have they destroyed you, the man I thought invincible? Your eyes shine, not from the former gleam of joy but from heavy tears. Oh angel, why can't your eyes glimmer with happiness? Why can't you answer my question with fluid ease as you used to?
You still haven't replied in relation to my question, do you realize? You haven't spoken since that little pause, that little insecure answer. You don't know anymore; you lost all that glorious intellect with their colloquial degrading criticism. You have worked for them from the beginning; everything you had done was for them. They can't see that, though, can they angel? They're too wrapped up in their own pathetic existences to realize your sacrifice. But you would never really call them out on it, would you? Though they have turned their backs on you mercilessly, you still attempt to summon them. You still attempt to save them.
Oh angel, don't you know how fruitless your attempts are to some of those creatures? They only want your blood spilled out on the floor before them. They only want your carcass so they can ravenously pick the meat and flesh from your broken bones. You still remain speechless, your gaze rooted to the dirt-encrusted ground. Without a word, you search in your tight pockets for your oversized sunglasses, perching them quietly on the bridge of your nose. My one desire is to collapse on the floor to weep. Look what they have done to you! Look at how they have you hiding behind the tinted glass of your shades!
Have they caused you shame, angel? Have they finally made you believe their outrageous falsehoods? Have they succeeded? Have they finally destroyed you? Oh, but the joy it brings these cowards to send a hero crashing to the ground! Their putrid laughter fills the air as they rejoice in the way they have toppled an angle from Heaven. You had never gone against them; you have only shown them unconditional love. Yet they despise you. Do you want to know why?
"Do you want to know why they despise you?" Your head jolts upwards and you stare at me, intent on what I will say. A bitter laugh escapes my lips as I realize this means the world to you. What I will say is what you have been searching for. I take a deep breath, rubbing my temples. This is not easy. How can you tell an angel the reason for hatred?
"They hate the way you are perfection personified in a form somewhat similar to their own. They hate the way you fall and return to grace, stronger than ever. They hate how you seem so perfect, how your eyes shine so brightly when you do what you love. They hate how you have become so well-known doing what you love and excel at while they can only dream of such recognition. With your pale skin, ink-black locks, strong voice, raw talent and overall presence, they envy you. They envy you. They despise you, they loathe you, because they can only ever achieve the most minimal fraction of what you and all your friends have achieved." Breathing heavily from anger, frustration and sorrow, I turned away. Oh angel, please understand this. Angels should not suffer and yet your heart twists with every cunning word.
You lower your head to the ground again, your chest straining as you struggle to breathe. I wish to wrap you in my arms and facilitate your breathing. But I can only look on in horror as a single tear shines momentarily like a silver star on your moonlight face. Your façade seems to be crumbling before my very eyes. The worn mask you have hid behind for so long is chipping away, revealing the vulnerable flesh beneath it. And in a cloud of dust, it falls to the floor, taking with it your shelter, your sunglasses, everything you hid behind. I must say angel, you are such a beautiful tragedy.
You fall to the ground, sobs making your body shake uncontrollably. "Wh-what d-did I d-do wrong?" you stutter desperately, hoping for someone to give you an answer. I have it here angel, held tight in my fist. I can give it to you. I can give you what you want. And I will, because seeing you suffer is killing me deep inside.
"You did nothing wrong at all," I reply, watching as you helplessly continue weeping on that merciless ground. With my voice cracking at the sight of you before me, I continue. "All you did was excel at what you love. All you did was be the best you could be. All you did was give all the love you could to try to save others. You did nothing wrong." You're more of an angel than anyone can realize.
"I don't know," you finally answer, lowering your gaze to the floor. Why are you so frightened, my angel? Why can't you look me in the eyes?
Answer me angel, "Where has your faith gone?" You don't answer, carefully examining the dirt-streaked rubber on your worn shoes. And I begin to laugh as I stare at your bowed head. There is absolutely nothing funny in this situation, nothing at all. But life is a joke, isn't it angel? Isn't life just a damned game we can't afford to lose? So I'll laugh at it, angel, laugh at the punch line driving bruises into my skin. Life is a joke.
"Life isn't a joke," you have said on occasion, frowning at our needless laughter.
"If life ain't just a joke, then why are we laughing?" I always replied, despite the fact that you always made me wonder: Why am I laughing?
"Because you're deranged," you would always say, a smirk on your lips as I laughed again. Oh angel, what have they done to you? Have they reduced you to this? Have they dethroned you, cast you into a deep pit because you have changed? Have they destroyed you, the man I thought invincible? Your eyes shine, not from the former gleam of joy but from heavy tears. Oh angel, why can't your eyes glimmer with happiness? Why can't you answer my question with fluid ease as you used to?
You still haven't replied in relation to my question, do you realize? You haven't spoken since that little pause, that little insecure answer. You don't know anymore; you lost all that glorious intellect with their colloquial degrading criticism. You have worked for them from the beginning; everything you had done was for them. They can't see that, though, can they angel? They're too wrapped up in their own pathetic existences to realize your sacrifice. But you would never really call them out on it, would you? Though they have turned their backs on you mercilessly, you still attempt to summon them. You still attempt to save them.
Oh angel, don't you know how fruitless your attempts are to some of those creatures? They only want your blood spilled out on the floor before them. They only want your carcass so they can ravenously pick the meat and flesh from your broken bones. You still remain speechless, your gaze rooted to the dirt-encrusted ground. Without a word, you search in your tight pockets for your oversized sunglasses, perching them quietly on the bridge of your nose. My one desire is to collapse on the floor to weep. Look what they have done to you! Look at how they have you hiding behind the tinted glass of your shades!
Have they caused you shame, angel? Have they finally made you believe their outrageous falsehoods? Have they succeeded? Have they finally destroyed you? Oh, but the joy it brings these cowards to send a hero crashing to the ground! Their putrid laughter fills the air as they rejoice in the way they have toppled an angle from Heaven. You had never gone against them; you have only shown them unconditional love. Yet they despise you. Do you want to know why?
"Do you want to know why they despise you?" Your head jolts upwards and you stare at me, intent on what I will say. A bitter laugh escapes my lips as I realize this means the world to you. What I will say is what you have been searching for. I take a deep breath, rubbing my temples. This is not easy. How can you tell an angel the reason for hatred?
"They hate the way you are perfection personified in a form somewhat similar to their own. They hate the way you fall and return to grace, stronger than ever. They hate how you seem so perfect, how your eyes shine so brightly when you do what you love. They hate how you have become so well-known doing what you love and excel at while they can only dream of such recognition. With your pale skin, ink-black locks, strong voice, raw talent and overall presence, they envy you. They envy you. They despise you, they loathe you, because they can only ever achieve the most minimal fraction of what you and all your friends have achieved." Breathing heavily from anger, frustration and sorrow, I turned away. Oh angel, please understand this. Angels should not suffer and yet your heart twists with every cunning word.
You lower your head to the ground again, your chest straining as you struggle to breathe. I wish to wrap you in my arms and facilitate your breathing. But I can only look on in horror as a single tear shines momentarily like a silver star on your moonlight face. Your façade seems to be crumbling before my very eyes. The worn mask you have hid behind for so long is chipping away, revealing the vulnerable flesh beneath it. And in a cloud of dust, it falls to the floor, taking with it your shelter, your sunglasses, everything you hid behind. I must say angel, you are such a beautiful tragedy.
You fall to the ground, sobs making your body shake uncontrollably. "Wh-what d-did I d-do wrong?" you stutter desperately, hoping for someone to give you an answer. I have it here angel, held tight in my fist. I can give it to you. I can give you what you want. And I will, because seeing you suffer is killing me deep inside.
"You did nothing wrong at all," I reply, watching as you helplessly continue weeping on that merciless ground. With my voice cracking at the sight of you before me, I continue. "All you did was excel at what you love. All you did was be the best you could be. All you did was give all the love you could to try to save others. You did nothing wrong." You're more of an angel than anyone can realize.