Gabriel

There were those that saw him come
The Sick and the Blind
The Poor and the Mad
The Old and the Forgotten,
There among the trees
On the first of the Year.
They saw him
Radiant and strong
Sword aflame with glory
Eyes and wings bright with faith.

"I AM GABRI'EL,"
He said, in a voice that could topple mountains.
They hid their faces and trembled
For they were afraid.

"I AM GABRI'EL,"
He trumpeted.
"FEAR NOT,
FOR I COME FROM THE LORD."

He Spoke
And told them of Things-To-Come
Of Fire
Of Storms
Of Plague
Of Death.
He told them of these things
And bade them:
"Spread the word."

The sun dawned
On their street corners
And their alleyways
On their fountains
And their soapboxes
Where they stood and chanted to the throngs
Preaching and warning
Of the things the angel had told them.
Crowds passed unheeding,
Minds on other things
More important than the Last Days.

"Dirty old men,"
They said.
"Crazy."
"Get a job."

A few paused in their steps
To hear and listen
But were swept along by the tide
And put it out of their minds.

"I am Gabri'el!"
He, himself, spoke the loudest
Beside a building of steel and glass
To all who passed him by.
He spoke again of Fire
Again of Storms
Again of Plagues and Death
And his white breath oozed
Into the cold air
With the force of his cries.

They looked at him
With disinterest;
Walked right by.
If they marked him at all
It was because of the shrillness in his voice
Not what he said,
Or why.

"If you are Gabriel,"
Said one man,
Voice cold and sneering.
"Where are your wings?"
He looked back
And could not fathom where they had gone.

He looked up, and the sun was dimmer to him than ever before.
He looked at the faceless sea
And felt alone for the first time.
He sat on the hard stone
Weary
After only one day.

"Was this what you expected?"
Asked a child, solemnly
Eyes purple like a bruise
Smile worn out and understanding.

"Belial,"
Said Gabriel.

"Gabri'el,"
Said Belial,
And sat.

"Did you do this?"
He asked.

"We did not have to, brother.
They have made themselves blind
To wonders,
Made miracles
Commonplace.
It is easier that way."

"They will see.
They must."

"They will not.
They will burn your wings
Twist your sword
Reduce you to the shell of dust
Before they would dare Believe."

"Why?"

"The Shepherd has made His sheep too well.
Prophets stand on every corner,
Repeat the Truth until it becomes a lie
And Faith is wasted like milk in a cracked jar."

"Did you do this?"

"We would not have thought of this."

"They will see.
I will show them.
They must know."

"Why will they listen to you?"

"Because I am Gabri'el."

"There are many Gabriels."

The child was gone
And the angel again stood and called,
Pleading for them to hear,
Clutching at their clothes
As the sun sank behind him.
But all he saw was their fear
All he received was their anger
And he cried out
In pain and anguish and surprise.

He tried to show them his wings,
Wings he had shown so easily last night,
And they shrank from him
Like grass in a storm.

And a small voice cried
"He has a gun!"

He was shouting still
When they came to take him away.

"Danger to society,"
Said one, in the name of Righteousness.
"Danger to himself,"
Said another, in the name of Pity.
"Put him away," they all said.
"We do not want to see him."

"But I am Gabriel. . ."
He said,
Softly.

They shaved his head
(A choking hazard)
And put long silver needles into his arms
That dripped insidiously
Leeching away his Light until
Even his pleadings fell silent
And he stared
Glassy-eyed
Voiceless
At the senseless chattering
Of the television.

"Such a pity,"
The nurses cooed.
"He's too beautiful to be crazy."
Gabriel said nothing.

They puzzled over the scars
Where his wings used to be;
("Self-mutilation.")
They puzzled even longer over his not-loins,
Blank and smooth and perfect.
("Rare birth defect.")
Such things are not unprecedented,
After all.

They left and locked the door
So no one saw the child
Bruise-colored eyes shining with tears.
"I told you," he said.
"But you wouldn't listen."
If Gabriel could hear
He gave no indication.

Belial kissed his salty forehead.

With a flash of blackened wings
And of sulphur
He was gone.



* * *


In an alley sits a man,
Wrapped in cardboard and rags,
Crusty with grime and years,
Rocking slowly against the cold.
His eyes are bright
With Faith and Wonder,
On his lips, a name
Repeated senselessly
Chanted piously.
"Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel. . ."