Thursday, April 05, 2007

The angel Samael
- A Passover Poem

The angel Samael
Whose dominion is hell -
He slides door to door
(That listless seraph),
To persuade you with graphs
And a fiery sword,
His charts in accord
With his well measured steps
And the lies on his lips -
He’s a salesman of sorts.
But the blood of the lamb
Is like bug spray to Sam.

The angel Samael
Whose dominion is hell -
His movements are slow
But he never stands still,
Peeking over the sill
Wherever he goes,
In his white shirt as clean
As a sterile syringe,
He's dispensing revenge
Like a vending machine.
But the blood of the lamb
Is like bug spray to Sam.

The angel Samael
Whose dominion is hell -
He’s as prompt as a clerk,
But you know what they say?
He stays home Easter day
To rest from his work.
Yet the slower the front,
The faster the aft -
And so after the fast
He continues to hunt.
But the blood of the lamb
Is like bug spray to Sam.

The angel Samael
Whose dominion is hell -
He’s the patient type:
Waiting under the tree
For the fruit to fall free,
On the day it is ripe.
Eat the unleavened bread
Or go searching for eggs:
If you curse or you beg
You will one day be dead,
And the blood of the lamb
Will not keep you from Sam.

2 Comments:

Blogger Sara said...

NÅ kom jeg i påskestemning.

11:43 am  
Anonymous maître said...

funny, Sara, I was just going to say that this poem was so becoming for the easter season

3:13 pm  

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