I know the ghost of angels say to kill.
I know the philosophy in it still.
I know the world revolves around it now.
I know the sword ﬁghts like hell.
I know the blood of thunder tastes like rain.
I know the wrath of God is pain.
I know the structure of it now.
I know the reasons are the same.
I know the aptitude is light
I know the war is left to ﬁght.
I know the choirs sing it loud.
I know the truth that it’s not right.
A long time ago I used to write poetry. Mostly in high school. However years later I was inspired to write this poem. I was never very good at poetry. I always preferred prose. But I did like this poem. It puts a picture in my head of a questioning archangel (Michael) in the middle of a war. How the line between black and white is told to him to be distinctive. Its been hammered into him forever. But yet as the last line of this poem reads he realizes that what he’s told isn’t necessarily how it is.