Title art by Joshua Reynolds.

 

 

 

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Massive Attack “Angel”

 

 

 

 

In a fault-finding feudal society
Is it any wonder we are racked with anxiety
Dignified souls known for suffering quietly
Generally lend a wide berth to the rivalry
Tend to recline when the tide starts to turn
Or else, be brushed swiftly aside while the bridges of privilege burn
Villages pillaged in the name of the one mirrored image unwilling to cease its misgivings

 

The world that we live in can be particularly unforgiving
We look into so many eyes, declaring that they’re barely even living
The mistake is to take without giving
To forsake those whose skins appear somewhat ill-fitting
To shake the tree, hoping to catch any apples that fall
To take something sacred and translate to nothing at all
To hoard all the moments when others have made themselves vulnerable in our presence
Then twist into sufferable weapons
Just because we deem it our call

 

Years turn to months, weeks, days, hours, then minutes and eventually seconds
Voices of reason cry treason, misleading through tuning the bandwidth to deafen
Beckoning of reckoning through threatening behaviour
Unsettling the energy whenever we’re endeavoring to waver the right to act kindly
Not coincidentally unsightly every time we refrain from politely campaigning for those in disfavour
Dismembering prey, while remembering the day when flesh and blood began surrendering its flavour
All the while, forgoing of the simplest fragility to savour

 

To those who are cleft by the infidels sabre
Nothing is said of unspoken disclaimer
Nothing is thought of the love lost to unsettled labour
Nothing left but vapour trail on monorail of fail on epic scale as seen through a protective veil not prone to setting bail
Some of us chase comet tails, while others don’t subscribe
Some of us keep faith in chosen tribe
Either way, we find a way to find a place just safe enough to bid recline and while away the hours

 

Suddenly, anxiety need not move quite so silently
Papaya tree not rain down fruit so violently
Provided we can see another soul just as inclined to be the kind refined enough to ride the rough with trust and pliancy
Deep within us cosmic dust will lead us to a gold mine
Once we cut some slack to that which actually was within us the whole time
Gravitate towards the souls who we feel glow the brightest
Those for whom, when chips are down, will stand uneven ground with us united

 

In our darkest hours, we learn the keepers to our souls
Those guaranteed to shield us from the spears that others throw as their only vital roles involve seeing us achieve our goals
Even when the walls are closing in on us, still seeing us as something more than storm benighted souls
Ignorance is blissful for the many, not the few
Been a torrid time of late and I truly appreciate the smiling faces cheering me, the ones who genuinely got me through
Thus, next time that anxiety confides of rack and ruin
All signs need not lead to blackened ruins
For all I see are angels in my view

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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