Wings, stiff and ragged
dangling beside hollow shell.
Head hangs limp to its side,
as he slowly sways, as if an ornament
on an ancient tree.
Lifeless eyes, once pure,
gaze wildly from behind bone mask,
while crowned with a halo that
no longer gleams.

The angel,
yet another victim of pleasure's lure.
Jesus would tell him secrets in the
pitch of night, tales of orgasmic sinners,
hair of wicked flames, indulging
in the gifts provided by his god.
Doshia's God and his Godly duties,
demanded by a whisk of light,
and a distant voice. Earthly pleasures
excluding Doshia, as Jesus would
explain the only possible method of
escape.

Temptation overwhelms, as faith
diminishes, as if an eclipse of the
last sign of morality within.
Lulled into a swoon, as Jesus wraps
the noose around Doshia's neck,
his tongue gently caressing Doshia's ear
in a final embrace, as Jesus whispers,
"freeee," and with a warm breath to
the back of his neck, Doshia falls to
freedom.

A sudden jolt, shattering snap,
as the once blinding halo dims
with a final flash of light.

2001 R. Charles
(All Rights Reserved)