If she were an angel might be named Lucifer,
not casting dispersion cuz in truth I love her.
Love her for her power, her great embracing soul,
me she helped to foster; with direction cajoled.
Arc of storytelling by angel who is arch;
if she were an angel Michael would be her mark.
Spirit of a warrior, a shrinking violet not;
theatre pharisees have plucked her feathers out.
Delivered to Purdah for perceived blasphemy,
mutely does she suffer buffets and mockery.
Pygmies circle round her and strain their necks to see
one with far more worth than nit pickers who’re but fleas.
Cast out from the heavens, all is gray in Limbo,
deserves veneration, self-flagellates with blows.
How many, “Our Fathers,” how many, “Hail Marys,”
is proper contrition for a sin venally?
Does self-flagellation draw insufficient blood?
Is self-immolation required for fleas’ love?
Oh, great goddess angel, I weep for you this day
wish I had the power restore to astral plane.
Swear there’s candle burning, I swear there’s light ahead,
swear you are loved dearly, I’ve felt weight of your dread.
The dread of impotence, shackles invisible,
weight that draws the mouth down, makes smiles impossible.
Furthest thing from lovers, but Lord I love you so:
Surprised by intense of my sad angry tear flow.
Vestigial response for one of the fairer sex?
Or simple reaction for friend want to protect?