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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1520131
This piece reflects on the idea of how the Angel Michael would be viewed as today.
Destiny


"You know I didn't ask to be this saint.
I wanted to bathe the world and make it clean,
But I never wanted the water to turn to blood."


The sound of cold steel slicing the air,
As she retracts the slide
Making sure each signature is in place.

"Sometimes I think I can set aside this burden.
Father, remove this cup from me.
I've said that prayer so many times."


The weight of the Glock crushing her hand,
As she raises the sight to check the aim
Even now not trusting her faithful companion.

"Yet I never said it out loud in a beautiful garden.
No, it's always in a sleazy room outside of town
With neon lights bathing me in the dead of night."


Spinning the smooth cylinder in her hand,
She looks down at the lover she has come to know.
Her eyes grow cold as she attaches the silencer.

" Kneeling in mass I never could have imagined,
What He had in store for his newest Michael.
I was just a kid who wanted to be a saint."


She knelt down in the light of the sign,
Removing a small crucifix from beneath her shirt.
Holding it to her lips she whispered…

"Father, if thou willing,
Remove this cup from me:
Nevertheless not my will but thine be done."


She rose up and moved to the door,
Stopping to throw a book of matches on the bed.
Blinking back dry tears she walked out the door.

Still, the air cold and filled with sorrow,
The matchbook lay open on the bed,
With small script inside…

"Eloi, Eloi Lama Sabachathani…"
© Copyright 2009 Minerva Hana (minerva_hana at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1520131-Destiny