There are times when I. . .
One of the night-angels
Fly across the myriad earths. . .
Of many-splendored humanity
And looking into the window panes –
Of the tired dysfunctional homes
See the madness. . .
That is the essence of creation
While each and every mortal nation
Struggles to maintain dominance
In an increasingly small globe.
It all makes sense. . . ,
But only in the light of the strobe
Only then do the figures. . .
All so hectic
In stop-motion animation
Jerking and twitching erratically
Start to paint a horrible picture –
Of man’s moral frugality
And they dare judge the Gods themselves!
Who else would they have learned such notions from?
There are images in my mind. . .
From a time so remote
That only amoeba crawled –
On the alkaline saturated basins –
Of the primordial oceans –
Of ancient Terra Incognita
And my kind flew across the aether. . .
To the stars-not-stars, stellar’y sparkling
And settling sandy beaches of yesteryear
Built temples of sinew and cartilage
And washed them –
In the lymphatic fluids of the universe
And bowed down –
Before the awesomeness of our art
And reclined in the view of idols made of hair
Where the tallest
And most graceful was so fair
That she came to life before our very eyes
And reveled herself
Full of petty little lies
We burned her that summer. . .
And the fire was, as all hair burns:
Quick and strange, somewhat melting,
With a few sparks here and there. . .
She was gone in an instant, how sad…
But her essence remained –
In the hearts of the masters
And they brought her to, again
In the snowy peaks –
Of some remote world
Where rivers of liquid nitrogen flow
And dragon-like beasts –
Swim in the currents. . .
Unfrozen, for their hearts –
Are made of stone
There we etched her out of solid helium
And in the darkness –
That the substance required –
Contemplated her curves –
With our cognitive fingers
And watched as she melted and evaporated
While the sun rose on the horizon
Death by daylight!
That was our motto for a millennium or two
And then aeons later. . .
We beheld earth, crude
A wet molten rock of mud and fumes
It bubbled with the refuse of life
There and on other planes and worlds
Were we to find willing adherents –
To our angelic flights
Strange hairy beasts were they
Privy to mechanical concoctions of all kind
Liking to dwell in caves
Fearing the night
Shunning the daylight sun….
We called them: the twilight rodents
For they were as curious as rats
And as ingenious as ants
Cooperating only in the extreme
A controlled chaos. . .
Or so it would seem
And we watched, and many like them
And saw, and cried with them
But they are petty. . .
Petty when they have gone too far
With their arrogance and annoying toys
They would try to understand and comprehend it all
And destroy what they could not.
Why? Why is the sky on some worlds black?
And on others blue or as red as blood?
The hue, the atmospheric particulates…
But who would be interested?
Ultimately it’s all a shade of white
And white is but the absence of black
And black is the night where we dwell from time to time
And on our wings –
Made of the dreams of indiscreet witches
With the feathers –
Spun on the looms of female dwarves
We fly, and in flight live, and in flight cry
And on the jet streams dance as though on ice.
I remember a time when I met the young human fellow
He was a heartbeat of age, perhaps but twenty
He saw me once when I relaxed in his sight
I forgot myself. . .
I know it was my fault. . .
But some of these mortals. . . ,
Are more beautiful than all life
He was nude, bathing in a hidden lake
It was night-time
But the moon shone so bright
And I flew down from out of the aether
And saw him wading knee deep in the water there
I sat on the shore and stared in awe
And suddenly he stopped
And his eyes grew wide
And he looked at me,
And before I could react:
He uttered “But you have wings!”
And I must confess that I blushed very deeply
And vanished immediately. . . .
But having thought it over a bit
I returned to find him, to my dismay, dressed
He was walking away
To a vehicle, parked not far
I appeared before him
And glancing a bit of the top of his mind
Took the shape in physio-form –
Of a maiden he would have liked. . .
And smiling, and blinking
We stood there for eternity
I dared almost to stop him in time
But it would have been a crime
His genes needed to propagate –
With his kind, he needed a mate
He needed to find –
Those females of humanity, those females
And inject them with his beautiful seed
I vowed to follow his line
For I saw in his helix –
An unbeatable gene
It would command all others
And his beauty would shine
For a millennium if not more
This was indeed a rare find
For he was pure of soul
And uncorrupted by the age and by the time
He was innocent of the flesh
And quite sharp and astute
And so I offered to teach him how to fly
“Sure,” was all he said,
Gawking and showing his white gleaming teeth.
And we took to the air
I forgot for a moment he was not one of us
And we flew in and out of other dimensions
At speeds that might have hurt him
And when I realized what I had been doing, I stopped
And in fright that he might be hurt –
Brought him down on a iceberg
I know not where
But above us there were three moons
And a Pegasus flew by
He smiled and breathing hard –
“I’m ok,” he said
And I sat down next to him on the ice
“Do they not restrict you,” I asked of his clothes
And he laughed and averted his gaze from my nude flesh
“Let me give you a pair of wings,”
I said with a pleading tone
And he was speechless for awhile.
I disrobed him slowly
For I knew that is what he wanted
And molded out of his flesh
A set almost as fine as mine
He and I took to the air
And we lived together for a year and a day
When I finally deposited him on his earth
He said not very much
But asked if he could somehow –
Keep his wings and yet hide them too
I understood, and linked them to his wrist watch
“Set your watch, like so, and then turn it slow,
Your wings will by themselves grow
And if you speak my name
Repeat it to no one. . .
For it is a secret
Yet if you speak my name, while in flight. . .
I will hear you and come to visit” I said
“That would be cool, real cool,” he responded
“Listen, are you an angel?” he suddenly asked
“Do angels kiss like this?” and I finally succumbed
I succumbed to his charm and to his allure
I know it was wrong
I could have hurt the poor lad
And it was not right to steal that bit of his blood
But I wanted his face on one of mine
I wanted his gene
That gene he had so much of
And I took it from him. . .
A willing gift I’m sure
He had the memory of me
And I the helix of him
Yet these are the cruelties of the world
For I knew that he would never now –
Be happy among his own kind
We saw each other many times
Flew to distant lands holding hands
Yet it was but a teardrop in an ocean of time
And soon, he called me no longer.
So I waited until he had aged –
And was close to death. . . ,
When I returned –
And snatched his soul from Charon
Charon was not happy
And argued with me a bit
But I paid him –
With a few strands of Odin’s beard
And all was well
And I hurried home.
There I broke the crystal –
That housed our child
I had made sure it never sprouted a soul
And I blew his spirit into it
And he awoke at once
Saw his wings and me. . .
And looking at his lithe body
So very much like mine, smiled
And then made love to me
Like only our kind can
Like only we, night-angles are able to
And I begged his forgiveness
And he cried and laughed with me
And the night was never as bright as when we reunited.
I fly sometimes, alone
Alone past the homes of people like him
And see the many faces –
Of despair and tragedy
And note with little hope their future
Yet sometimes, true fae-like beauty arises
Which most often everyone despises
And walks like a queen –
Among maggots and roaches
And only one of us dares. . . , approaches
And walks away with a feeling of reverence
“For mortals are people too”
I often say to my friends:
They who are impatient,
Give them time,
Give them a million years or more
And they will amaze you
For they are a tall race
And though petty and ignoble
And sometimes dangerous
With their swords. . .
And their atom-bombs. . .
And all that stuff. . . .
I have never seen another like my lover
But I know, that as he flies –
With me to uncharted realms
He too has never seen another like me
We are in a sea –
Of hopelessness and despair
A lucky, a truly lucky pair
We are: Lords of the Dark
And the missions on which we embark
Are filled often-times –
With the same unearthly chimes –
That the forefathers in aeonic past –
My forefathers who still last –
The demonic-angels –
With glistening wings. . . ,
Feeders off of the essence –
Of bloody dreams. . . ,
That they too had met lovers like mine. . .
Some chose to embrace, others chose to dine
But all in all, we are still here. . .
We are both. . . what mankind loves –
And what all mortals –
In the dead of night. . . , ultimately fear.
October 25, 1996 – Konrad Tademar