Angels of Death

“. . . I might dream of climbing forever the tall dark trees above me. They are so tall that I feel as if I should find at their tops the nests of the angels; but in this mind they would be dark and dreadful angels; angels of death.” – G.K. Chesterton

Cast out, they wait at the tops of tall trees
In nests wound round with wisps of clouds and ivory feathers,
Reinforced with snow that glitters, gleams, and glows,
Reflecting the icy, piercing light of a moonlit winter night.

They do not sleep.
They do not age or weep or rage.
They have no unearthly children at their feet,
no dust or dung to taint their pristine keep.

They do not die, and they do not live.
Full of promise, they never give.

They shine and shimmer, awe and blind.
They seek to seduce.
They seek to bind.

They seek to eat that part of us
that lives, or dies, forever,
as it must.

They come to us from high above,
Our desolation certain but for Love.

–A.M. Otwell, Advent 2008