Gabriel - Existential Prose

I recently submitted a slam poetry piece to LoveJuice's submission contest, which put me in mind of the latest piece of poetry I wrote. A bit heavy, full of references.

an-angel-appears-to-balaam Gustav Dore Medium.jpg

I stand on mountaintops,
Waiting, still waiting,
For them to fulfill their part
Of the Covenant.

I rain down fire,
But some describe me as being of Water.
I was supposed to protect the children,
But in my name they kill and are killed.

I take it all on me,
It’s all my doing,
All that is to be praised, all that is holy,
And all that went wrong, went downhill,
Down them mountains.

There is no one else to blame
When you hold them all inside your head.
Your call, your game,
Angst; existential dread.

My wings are caught within my chest,
I am too big inside.
Hurt is the name of the game.
I can’t spread my wings.
I cannot fly.

(I wish I had free will,
So I could wish to die.)

_{The image in this post is An Angel Appears to Balaam by Gustave Doré, 1866, and was taken from Wikiart.Org.}