Bitter Angels of Our Souls


Cover Art for Avrigus, The Secret Kingdom


” . . . As Make The Angels Weep” ~ Measure for Measure, William Shakespeare

gothic-angel-adjusted1I had no post yesterday as I could not untangle the threads of the many thoughts coursing through my brain. Today, I wrote a post and erased it as I found it to be little better than fodder.

One friend texted repeatedly yesterday of her love and support. Another dear friend wrote to remind me that life will eventually be better. In my heart, I try to believe that this is true.

But this is where I have arrived tonight: My mind keeps returning to angels, dark angels, angelic order, seraphim and cherubim. In the end this is what my head and my heart told my fingers to say:




And All of the Angels Will Weep

I am tired of wallowing and weary of being tired,

past the point of painful outpourings of my soul

and pointedly looking past the wasteland in which I am mired.

I could remain here, wasting my time in sorrow,

or I can keep in my heart the remains of unspent dreams

and dream of a tomorrow without wasteful worry.

I might share my secrets with the dark angels who hover;

then cover my face like the wings of the seraphim,

who hearken to me with their whispered, burning songs.

Perhaps I could carve from the marble the cherubim of the sphere:

stand in their light and beg them to swallow my fears,

 lighting the way with their perfect knowledge and the company of ophanim

But ultimately, I fear to make the angels weep—

Leaden with the weight of imperfect knowledge

I cannot wait for the protection of Malakh wat watim,

So I will travel the path alone.

L. Liwag, 2009




 And so, once more, we travel far

The bitter angels of our souls

beckon us into the darkest of places,

somewhere we have never traveled,

and force us to gaze upon that which we most fear

the unforgiving realities of our existence,

the cloaked dualities of our essence.

It is this that leads us to the final fall.

It is this that takes our hand

and ever so gently guides us

into the abyss.


L. Liwag






Black Crowes, “She Talks to Angels