Any Angel Drunk with Discontent

Any angel drunk with discontent

May wonder if the damned desire

More than he.

Is his soul less free,

Or merely dangled over cooler fire?

 

The demon all to eas’ly whole

For hating all but hate

Can barely lie

To keep his angel eye

From risible confession, sour as great.

 

A motled man, more than angel

(They too measured on a noble line),

Wrestles night,

Denies no common sight

Once gathered can but whisper of design.

 

And we with daring lamentations

Spit our real and ugly scorn

With secret nod

T’ward echoes, hints of God:

The brittle rose found perched above the thorn.