Michael and all angels

I am tired of angels.
I am tired of their wings beating hollow drums of war,
their obsequious, their patronizing, “Do not be afraid;’
their inconvenient words to frightened virgins and old women.
I am tired of their entrapment
of innocent rams; their oppression and possession
of dumb asses, their impassive stance, swords of fire and backs
turned towards the gate of Eden, while we trudge east,
casting glances beyond the reach
of their shimmering glory.

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