The Night That the Angels Came

Keith Michael Roberts, copyright 1974 - .

It was cold as the love that’s gone dead in your eyes,
the night that the angels came.
They were working on me like the stump of a tree,
cutting our trust with a chain
made from your beauty and blame,
undoing my soul with your name.

Then a starry-eyed maid from the angel brigade
laid like a waterfall.
She came raining on me like the queen of the sea,
letting her long hair fall,
wrapping me up in a shawl
of compassion I still can recall.

“My Sweet Gentle Child,
I know I’m not her that you name.
My skin and these tears
are just oil and cloth for your pain.
When walls and floors and hours are gone,
it is then you shall know who I am.
For I’ve seen the stars being born,
and I've watched as they dwindled away . . .
Though you do not remember me then,
come sleep in my arms once again.”

I’m a soldier of mercy, a refugee,
a traveler in the neon night.
Seeing all that there is and must surely be,
I’m strung to world like a kite,
tied by my earthly delight,
as I reach like a moth to the light.

You appeared by my side like a forsaken bride,
as the angel in the night looked on.
‘I’ve come here,’ you said,
“for I’ve heard you’ll be dead
before the first light of the dawn.”
Then, like a kiss, you were gone,
and the angel continued her song,

“My Sweet Gentle Child,
I know I’m not her that you name.
My skin and these tears
are just oil and cloth for your pain.
For when walls and floors and hours are gone,
it is then you shall know who I am.
For I’ve seen the stars being born,
and I've watched as they dwindled away.
Though you do not remember me then,
come sleep in my arms once again.”

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