Fallen Angels

A poem by Antjuan Finch

Before we had wisdom we carved our virtues out of marble. Although since then we’ve traded our stones for mirrors, and our hammers for keystrokes.
And now we sculpt ourselves out of each other, and bang away our insecurities, as though David might await us when we’re done.
No longer anytime for alters, or monasteries, the gods we worship are as human as us.
For, why bother holding yourself to an ideal, when you can just lie down your dignity and then hold everyone else accountable.
I suppose this is why we’ve grown cynical. We’ve slaughtered our gods, and then shaped ourselves in their image.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *