the angels

angels now pour themselves a bath of misanthropia
having become bitter cynics beyond return
while they smash the bloated piñatas of hope
with barbed wire baseball bats;
their spilled vein blood brighten even Nammu's deep
like lightbulbs in Fritzlean rape dungeons
adorned with opulent smiles stolen from faces
of children on the night before christmas
as dead religious pasts spring back to life
with the touch of their steel-bearing hands;
the knights of valour, red-crossed chests
drown in morasses of their own chivalry
as the maidens knit conspiracies of religious terror
in the shadows of the ignorance of their men;
angels now pour themselves a bath of cholera;
of AIDS; of leprosy; ebola; malaria; 
for the sickness unto death, the sickness unto death
will surely cleanse us all:
no solace, no escape, no safehavens, no wombs - 
the meaning of life is the ever option of suicide ---
as angels even, swallow this bullet,
surely must you too.