Purist of white light shining through my very being
Right
A history of misunderstood actions and a vision of lies
Cherubim flutter from cloud to cloud their baby youth keeping you in awe
Waiting for the real Cherubim to come and slay their pointless existence, a thousands
wings with a thousand eyes to watch them die
We have created a lie from Gods army
That is what they are…. You do know that don’t you?
Soldiers for the cause
Defenders of the truth and slayers of the ignorant
In truth they hate us
You must know that they hate us
The first-born always envies the youngest as they watch them showered with their parent’s constant attentions
Always the last to feel the warmth of love
Always the first to feel the wrath of anger
Sword in hand they do as they are told
Michael…. My protector?
My murderer?
My brother
I see no difference between man and Angel
They have their good points we have ours
They have their faults we have ours
Nobody is perfect
Not even God
I mean he created us didn’t he?
Wiped the slate clean and started again
Still the same out come
Such is life
Maybe that is what he thought
Can’t change them might as well let them grow
Almost like a weed you come to love in a garden of blossoming flowers
Keeping them away from the blooms yet always nurturing them just as much
Our sharp thorns waiting to hurt the protector
Growing alone in his Garden of Eden
Growing unaware of those around us
You know you can only grow so much
Before you start to die
Unless we produce a bloom as colorful as those around us
Forever alone shall we be
As Angels come to water our roots
Keeping the souls below the soil alive
They whisper to us what they are told to say
Michael the chief Gardner shall one day stop bringing the watering can of life
As Gabriel blows the horn marking the time of the harvest
Reap what you sow
There are no winds in this garden to spread your seeds anew
When we die we shall vanish
Gabriel sits and waits for the signal to pluck this weed from a garden to beautiful to share with the likes of us
Michael pauses each day before showering us with the waters of God to replenish our roots
The older brother jealous of the youngest passes the can to the fallen one
Trusting him to continue the job
Knowing he wont
Our time is drawing near
Yet still no blossom does appear