My parent told me,
"Let your heart be your guide."

Know that all is well.
And even though the sheen on life is death,
And the livid rage you felt in pettier times when all was really not well
sealed your bargain with God,
God is certain you have it in you to be...
An angel without a sword.

Your leisure time does not come without the
precedent of a timeless struggle.
The angel come from afar,
to where the souless are.
The bright child told of yearning
for greater dreams.
Your yearning taught us peace.
A peace eternal.
And then,
With your quiet ways,
you began
a song
about children.

And fetched
from the crypt of apocryphal ruin
a gleaming gem so bright
Its name is still
being debated about by
a supernatural race of beings
who
gain adherence to truth thru the
passage of time itself.

I am a zen monk of the highest order.
The ones who say I am made of magic, intuition and greatness.
They are keepers of the sacred word.

And where is my angel now
That saint Mathew has fled?
Is John the Baptist the angel?
Sent from afar to
where
I am?
Or, am I the angel who,

being told of
dust and incarnation
teaches pernicious transgressors to
hold hands as children would
in order to create
a fugue from the reason for unbearable pain.

I am a musician.

I am a musician who lacks an education.
Who allows a playful wish
be manifest in a kiss with the set of girls
who nourish with cunundrums of flesh
and
endless riddles of the mundane.

They hope we can avoid talking of the Tao.
And yet,
I dream of a pacific way
where pain is no more.
And a time also
when
I am not forced to
kill the demonic fear entity with
my nonexistent sword.

She waits in the shadows.
Expectant.
Full of pleasure and mirth.
"Confused by tales of violence."

Me,
the avenging angel,
who would broach heaven's
clasp
when I perceive the injustice
of torture in the seat of god's kingdom
Which is shining and free,
Bound and gagged.
Told to be silent with a wistful kiss.

God, as a savior, came in the form of an angel,
And handed me a book.
Which I now own.
(A worthless token.)
Inside were pictures urging me to richer
pastures past the doubt and the fading fire.
A niche,
Outside of time,
With me cast as a fearless warrior
Ending suffering for all time.

The rest
of
the universe
is
still
catching up
from my
one
mad act of vengeance.

In which I sought to end
the life of those who I believed (falsely) had
tortured my girl.

And I did seek to end those lives.
I did.
Yet,
Who can say on a soul level why I chose what I did?