There were those that saw him come The Sick and the Blind The Poor and the Mad The Old and the Forgotten, There among the trees On the first of the Year. They saw him Radiant and strong Sword aflame with glory Eyes and wings bright with faith. "I AM GABRI'EL," He said, in a voice that could topple mountains. They hid their faces and trembled For they were afraid. "I AM GABRI'EL," He trumpeted. "FEAR NOT, FOR I COME FROM THE LORD." He Spoke And told them of Things-To-Come Of Fire Of Storms Of Plague Of Death. He told them of these things And bade them: "Spread the word." The sun dawned On their street corners And their alleyways On their fountains And their soapboxes Where they stood and chanted to the throngs Preaching and warning Of the things the angel had told them. Crowds passed unheeding, Minds on other things More important than the Last Days. "Dirty old men," They said. "Crazy." "Get a job." A few paused in their steps To hear and listen But were swept along by the tide And put it out of their minds. "I am Gabri'el!" He, himself, spoke the loudest Beside a building of steel and glass To all who passed him by. He spoke again of Fire Again of Storms Again of Plagues and Death And his white breath oozed Into the cold air With the force of his cries. They looked at him With disinterest; Walked right by. If they marked him at all It was because of the shrillness in his voice Not what he said, Or why. "If you are Gabriel," Said one man, Voice cold and sneering. "Where are your wings?" He looked back And could not fathom where they had gone. He looked up, and the sun was dimmer to him than ever before. He looked at the faceless sea And felt alone for the first time. He sat on the hard stone Weary After only one day. "Was this what you expected?" Asked a child, solemnly Eyes purple like a bruise Smile worn out and understanding. "Belial," Said Gabriel. "Gabri'el," Said Belial, And sat. "Did you do this?" He asked. "We did not have to, brother. They have made themselves blind To wonders, Made miracles Commonplace. It is easier that way." "They will see. They must." "They will not. They will burn your wings Twist your sword Reduce you to the shell of dust Before they would dare Believe." "Why?" "The Shepherd has made His sheep too well. Prophets stand on every corner, Repeat the Truth until it becomes a lie And Faith is wasted like milk in a cracked jar." "Did you do this?" "We would not have thought of this." "They will see. I will show them. They must know." "Why will they listen to you?" "Because I am Gabri'el." "There are many Gabriels." The child was gone And the angel again stood and called, Pleading for them to hear, Clutching at their clothes As the sun sank behind him. But all he saw was their fear All he received was their anger And he cried out In pain and anguish and surprise. He tried to show them his wings, Wings he had shown so easily last night, And they shrank from him Like grass in a storm. And a small voice cried "He has a gun!" He was shouting still When they came to take him away. "Danger to society," Said one, in the name of Righteousness. "Danger to himself," Said another, in the name of Pity. "Put him away," they all said. "We do not want to see him." "But I am Gabriel. . ." He said, Softly. They shaved his head (A choking hazard) And put long silver needles into his arms That dripped insidiously Leeching away his Light until Even his pleadings fell silent And he stared Glassy-eyed Voiceless At the senseless chattering Of the television. "Such a pity," The nurses cooed. "He's too beautiful to be crazy." Gabriel said nothing. They puzzled over the scars Where his wings used to be; ("Self-mutilation.") They puzzled even longer over his not-loins, Blank and smooth and perfect. ("Rare birth defect.") Such things are not unprecedented, After all. They left and locked the door So no one saw the child Bruise-colored eyes shining with tears. "I told you," he said. "But you wouldn't listen." If Gabriel could hear He gave no indication. Belial kissed his salty forehead. With a flash of blackened wings And of sulphur He was gone. * * * In an alley sits a man, Wrapped in cardboard and rags, Crusty with grime and years, Rocking slowly against the cold. His eyes are bright With Faith and Wonder, On his lips, a name Repeated senselessly Chanted piously. "Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel. . ." |