In the underbrush is often found
a subtil beast: placed by seraphic hands
to guide through destruction and unite
for the common good of being evil.

While the wings are hard
to see, the implications are always the same.
The smiles are inhuman and
necessary as the carpenter's cup catches
the falling charisma

dripping from the forked tongues
of folks like Amber and little Addie
and other Noble Heroes.  Pistis Sophia
is the one, acting under orders, of
course, like Arnold the Blessed, who
allows the serpents to bite.

We will never see beyond words
no matter how much light is shed
by the Morning Star.  So we plod
on, finding hope, and maybe belief,
but never a good reason to hope or believe
in Angels.