Tag Archives: fighting evil

Saints Walk In The Dark

She was thin and strong and made no concessions to beauty.

She had the buzzed head of a saint. The distant, sad eyes.

An old, olive green army jacket that was too big for her,

swallowed her, and khaki fatigues, and faithful, worn boots.

She had a canvas knapsack over her shoulder, filled with a bible

and a silver cross made from Judas’ pieces of silver, and holy water,

and the journal she kept of the demons fought, sent back to hell,

all the children set free from the dark, all the pain and horrors.

It was five am on a Monday Morning in the old city, cold and rainy,

and the sun not back yet from the underworld, and I saw her turn her

head and look at me, curious and a shiver of hopefulness, there in the

Greyhound Station. What did she see? Was there still a flicker of light in me?

The next bus would be here in an hour, and she’d be gone to the next mission,

the next town, the next demon to fight that could not be slain until the end

of the old heaven and the old earth. I saw she wanted me to follow, to be a soldier,

to a rider of light into the dark places, to follow and be what I should always have been.

Would I follow her?

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Shoulder Blades

She was so young, not quite twenty,

that her face would change in the night,

shifting in the dark, becoming more angelic.

She would wake, still naked from the night before,

with the sun on her face, warm and gentle,

reminding her of what she could be.

The man offered money and luxury, but he was

a demon, suckling the innocence from her,

like it was sugar, like it was his to take.

She slit his throat one morning, and left him there,

bleeding out, fat and decadent on the floor,

taking his son’s army jacket, band t-shirt, and jeans.

She also took some money, and bought a beat up

and inelegant sedan, and headed south, to New Orleans,

to where Satan was gloating in his all to easy victories.

And, as she drove, she felt the itch and gnawing of the

first nubbins of her wings, pushing through her back,

marking her as holy, and quite willing to fight.

Her Incantations Bright

Teresa walks barefoot on the bridge,
Cocktail dress made angelic by the sunrise.
Long, blonde hair undone, flowing behind.
Her incantations bright on well kissed lips.

A spell from the blood of our broken hearts,
From the den of the beast, downtown bank,
To fight golden venom and diamond eyes,
The God too disinterested to burn it down.

Bloodied souls, exhausted spirits, teary eyes,
We held hands on the sidewalk afterwards.
Kisses heal the wounds, but we need sleep.
Simple touch will get us home again.

Teresa walks barefoot on the bridge, praying.
I follow behind, knowing peace is momentary.
Maybe we’ll slow dance in the living room,
A sacred song playing as our hearts beat wearily.

Black To Velvet To Grey

She’s on the waves, crystal blue, as the sun
awakens behind her, black to velvet to red.
Every morning, before the world begins again,
she’s here on the waves. She says she touches God.

She’s been through hell. She’s spat in the Devil’s eye.
She’s seen the darkness. She’s also held an angel’s hand.
Out on the waves, as the world is still asleep and quiet,
she rides the waves. The peace before the world.

And the world is burning. And I feel a war is coming.
And I let it all get to me. The dark smothers the stars.
Can I be like her? Spit in The Devil’s eye? Hold an angel’s hand?
Because she can still touch God, despite all her pain.

The sky is a crystal blue, like the waves, as she comes ashore.
She smiles at me. We both got to face the world know,
but she has a light I disregard, in hate and in anger.
Maybe I as write these words for her, I can touch God, too.

 

 

Quiet Moment On The Front Lines of an Eternal War

I was tired, from something more than battle and fatigue and hunger. I was tired not just to my bones, but to my very soul. My heart felt like it was pumping sludge instead of blood.

Me and her, Lt. Parris, were sitting above our dug out bunker that was basically home, known, not at all affectionately, as The Tomb. We had tinned fish and bottled water, so we were in high cotton!

Lt. Parris, I dared never call her Taelor, was happily chowing on down on her tinned fish, as if she were on her lunch hour in the park, not a care in the world. Not that she was careless, and not that she wasn’t as wrung out and exhausted as I was, it was just the meat grinder of a war never seemed to dampen her brightness, she shone even in this night.

It was the last dregs of dusk, the last bits of golden and red light been washed out of the sky, and the teacup of the sky was almost completely turned over to close out the light. So many holes in the tea cup. So many stars.

Their was a cool wind coming off the desert. Always so cold at night. Very cold. But I felt something in that wind, almost, almost…….peaceful.

Lt. Parris finished her tinned fish, and washed down the salty aftertaste with the last few swigs from her bottled water. She looked out onto the bare horizon, which ghostly and uncertain under starlight and with no bright moon. There not fear in her eyes. Only peace. And resolve.

“Something to eat besides MRE’s are a rare treat Jones, you should have savored it more.” She says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“What are tinned fish when we’re all being devoured, and The Red Dragon is coming take us. We’re all burning. We’ll be ashes on this cold goddamn wind.”

Lt. Parris, sighed, still looking out on the horizon, but she saw something…..else out there. Something……beyond the night and the demons and all the bloodshed.

“Jones…..we’re facing a lot right now. Don’t think I don’t notice the state you’re in. Don’t think I don’t know the Principalaties are amassing, and we’re hemorrhaging soldiers, and that it’s seems like everything we’re fighting for is hopeless and lost.”

“How many years have we been at This Lt. Parris? How much has been lost and how many have we sent how in caskets? How many rivers of blood has flowed on these dusty hills? And for what? The Red Dragon is still pushing hard against us! The demons are everywhere! There’s no bloody end to them! Home, is almost lost!”

I was howling at this point, as if to offer a scream up the sky and heaven itself! Once again, I was getting to worked up. To emotional. To bloody moody and unstable. I sighed, and brought myself back to earth, I think.

Lt. Parris sighed, but didn’t react otherwise. She didn’t threaten to have me reported to the platoon priest for blasphemy, or threaten to have me court martialed for defeatism. All the same, this was stuff she’d heard before, often, and was exasperated with hearing. Almost as exasperated as I was for not being able to shut up about it. But this war I’d been fighting for so long, and nothing seemed to every change in a good way. All that changed was what poor sucker caught it that day and had to be sent home in a box, perhaps a box that contained many pieces.

“Jones, Home isn’t lost. We have held them. At cost, at pain and loss. But we have held. It will never end, not until The Revelation and The End of Time. We’re going to fight here until we can’t. The others who follow us will do the same. The Red Dragon will always be a threat, because just as we have the divine light in us, we also have the darkness in us. Demons were once us you know. They got seduced. They let themselves be taken.

“ThereĀ  will always be people who let themselves be taken.” She said.

She reached over and placed arm around my shoulders, and gave me a squeeze. I tensed, surprised by her showing any sort of affection. But I then melted into it, and felt the warmth of her, and I felt as if the light and the peace in her was pouring into me.

She disengaged herself, squeezed my knee, than looked up at the stars.

“Remember what you have won, and what you’ve saved, all that you’ve been, even here.” She says.

She collects her empty tinĀ and bottle and goes back inside The Tomb.

I sit by myself for a long time, in the darkness, beneath the stars, and in the wind.