Recently, a friend joked about a man who’d addressed his fiancé as “my beloved angel”…
Yes, I did roll my eyes…
But then I asked this friend: aren’t we all beloved angels?
In my belief system, buried beneath even the deepest dross lies a pure spirit.
Even Lucifer began as a beloved angel.
Like Lucifer, the fiancé had revolted—she’d bolted.
I don’t blame her…
No matter how kind and gentle she was, the role of beloved angel would, in time, surely become a burden. A limitation—a shrinking of her sphere of expression.
French poet Baudelaire showed us the greater possibilities when he wrote:
“From heaven or hell, O Beauty, come you hence?” *
Even so, I really have to strain my vision to see both sides when I believe I’m looking an angel…or at a Lucifer.
But if I don’t try, I may likely rue my mistake…
The beloved will, in time, shatter the confining role of angel…
On the other hand, if I see only a Lucifer, I’ll miss another truth.
(* translation by Dorothy Martin, from the New Directions editon of The Flowers of Evil.)
© 2014, Michael R. Patton
SKY ROPE poetry