Enough To Impress the Angel of Death

Enough to Impress the Angel of Death

he revealed himself to me at church
one sunday
when I absent-mindedly looked down at the floor

he was staring up at me
maybe not staring as
his eyes were stitched closed but
somehow even with eyes
shut he was looking directly
at me

I stared right back in case
there is some obscure rule if the gaze
is broken then you are taken
in that instant

the connection was so
long and intense I
missed the sermon
but memorized every line on
that face like a page of
holy scripture

he wanted to see me
and wanted me to see him
as we share a sick burning
passion for this war but
mark its longevity and
destruction differently

he takes hearts and
limbs for his chthonic collection
and carries the screams
of the dying in a
gold vial

I gouge anti-war poems
from my flesh and whisper
names of the fallen
alone in the dark


Randolph Nesbitt

Posted over on Poets Against The War