by Tom Hirons
Today, I am the dark angel.
Not Hermes delivering Persephone from the underworld,
but the one who soars down,
takes Eurydice back where she belongs.
Who did she think she was, anyway?
She left Orpheus to do all the work;
who can blame him for faltering?
I'd have done it on purpose.
Fuck Apollo and all his weightless radiance.
Fuck Zeus, Aphrodite and the rest;
I'm going to Hades to hang out in the darkness.
I'll find Ares and put barbs in the swords,
twist the tips of spears and
maybe crack a can around
Hecate's crackling, cackling fire.
They can look for me in the whore–house
and the gutter–lined bars;
I'll be shattering myths,
breaking bottles over Eros' curly head
and fucking guileless nymphs
between sheets of blood and whisky
and poisoned dreams of hope.
They wanted a messenger,
but wanted to pick the message;
I'm going to stalk the motorway
with apocalyptic declarations
strapped to my glorious body;
I'm going to wait by marriage beds
and proclaim the supremacy
of infidelity, deceit and the
thousand petty deaths of the soul.
Fuck the healers
who dare not heal;
Fuck the orators
who peddle lies of light;
Fuck the winged messengers;
Fuck the heroes
and their muscle–bound
They can come gold
for all I care;
They'll all die in their time
and I'll be there,
I'm going to torture poets,
break musicians strings
and chase the Muses to hell.
I'll break canvases,
shatter stained glass
and poison the well.
I'm going to make vinegar
from the golden apples of the sun.
Today, I am the dark angel;
The god of boundaries
has his face turned towards the shade;
I will usher souls into darkness
and they can fend for themselves;
I am sick of the light
and all its insubstantial promises
Saved, from what?
You are all free, already;
I am tired of your constant, mortal
misapprehension of your life.
Look for me in the shadow,
the gutter and the nightmare.
Today I am the dark angel;
If you want to wake up,
then do it yourself.