Original article posted by Olorle:

Olivier – Once a prince
among Arch-angels,
believer in Lucifer’s
plan. Fallen angel.
Seeker of redemption
still. Escape from

Uriel – Angel of death,
not fallen, but standing
on the brink, standing
where eleven angels fell.
Guide, only lasting companion,
of Olivier.

Her – Mortal lover,
woman Oliver seeks
for comfort, for hope.

Thoughts seem clearest at night,
nearer truth. Nearer heaven. Redemption’s
secret hidden somewhere amidst
darkest sins. Time falters, moon-shadows
put on puppet plays of what came before.

Sidewalks constrict around grass-patch,
pressing towards fading park bench, world
closing in. Black and white world tinted back
towards middle ground, evil and good

One third rose and fought. Heavenly soldiers
fighting civil war.

What for?
What matter?

Not all earth-bound angels are demons
by choice. Change lurks somewhere
inside human spirit. Jiriki.

Redemption. True life.

Morningstar flared brightly before,
the host, showing us a new path,
another way, hope for all. Battle
raged, Arch-Angels clashing,
perfect beings and perfect war.

We were broken.
Held back from offering
love and salvation

I was cast down. Our rebellion.
My choice. .Damned. God cursing
us all to living without life.

The Fall
No more a Prince.
No end in sight.
No Eden remains.
No Heaven after.

The fall, then plunging
into earth’s hold. Heaven
shredded away.

I must hope.

Sun, glows violet,
drowns, extinguishes- cedes
sky to clouds and moon.

Soft patches of light
reveal quicksilver reflection
shredded by contact.

Current pulls Olivier
beyond rippled fiction,
beyond saving touch.

Rain sheets, building waves
upon waves. Electric flash
showing no sole fate.

Crescendo of sound
and water rending clouds,
leaves a tattered sky.

Water hammers at land –
calls men to watch, to listen.
Creak. Shatter. Silence.

Rag doll figure draped
on rock, trembles, cold, alone.
Light swallows the moon.

Salt torn skin. Muscles
coil with anticipation
of each new pain.

Limbs protest forced
motion. Torn figure
draws up to see

Corporeal, capable
of pain. Almost
human, but
immune to Death’s

A whispering voice
saying “No escape
for the damned.”


1. Olivier
Earth is horrible and beautiful,
a prison for damned souls and home
of the chosen. Humans living life,
facing horror, pressing on. Other fallen
try to draw them down, swell the ranks
of damned souls. But man resists. They
hope amidst pain, death, destruction.

Some find the way back home.

2. Uriel
Olivier endures his curse
and my whispers.
“Forgiveness means mortality.
Fading shell.
None but I see
the oblivion.”

Still, he searches, seeking
mortality, ignoring warnings
of Death. I, who stand
where Azrael, and Adriel,
and Sammael all fell. He
clings to hope, belief,
forgiveness amidst life in death.

Immortal Questions
Cast out for faith too deep;
for lust…
no, greed…
no, love.

Story too old, too twisted;
no, Sanskrit…
no, Enochian, language of angels.

The Beginning wavers between forms;
who is right,
who is wrong,
who should care?

History and heresy, building as one;
tales of devils,
fallen angels,
twisted men.

And I search.

Each new life, new start
towards forgiveness, leads
back to love. Why?

Uriel looms over each
new relationship, dark
shadow of endings.

Women, fallen to streets,
selling away there souls
where mine was given.

They touch me. So close,
because they try. Because
they want life.

Death touches all but
the Fallen. Leaving
me alone. Breaking
my heart;

but, giving momentary peace.

for a girl.
Seeking redemption
in lover’s embrace.
Hoping to be forever,
time touching just her.
Playing at normalcy, until
entropy takes over, tearing down again.
Left, always, with nothing
at the end.

Standing between life
and the abyss, untouched
by Lucifer’s taint. Standing
where so many Fell. Guiding
mortals towards death,
towards misunderstood
ends, towards what only
I see.

Olivier thinks he sees,
thinks he knows what
end waits beyond his
curse. A child ignoring
elders, a man ignoring
the seer.

Life becomes postcards
and paychecks, time
straining forward, slow
as June 21st.

Life becomes sterile
echoing hospital rooms,
cleaned needles, that night
Uriel refused me.

Old scars ache,
stretched by repetitive
motion. Each pain
emphasizes longing.

Dreams tease muscles
with memories of soft
touch, taunting ghosts
of long night together.

Another day starts,
counting down moments
until I come home,
ending this eternal
June 21st.


She faded,
lying in bed,
a crumpled paper
lost in white sheets,
the wings of Uriel.

I watched. Listened. Held her.
Broke down.

I walk through white noise,
bumping shoulders with
faceless crowds, circulated
into anonymity. Becoming
another random soul amidst
city streets reenacting man
fleeing the Garden.

Lost funeral dirge murmured beneath rote
Latin prayer.

Flowers fade slowly, no life-support, garnishing
polished casket, beautifying death. Playing against
ancient ghosts of rough pine boxes, rocks piled
as cairns, tombs for the royal, bodies sent to sea,
funeral pyres pouring smoke into night sky.

Lowered into that same earth, into broken down ash,
broken down men and women. Smoke curls between
my fingers, forgotten ash falling across tombstone, specter
of pyres, lost traditions, mourning of a thousand lost ruins.

Winter Storm

Where will you go?
Rivers carve landscape.

Where will you go?
Mountains rise up, challenging.

Where will you go?
Storm builds, gathers force.
Gathers rage.

Ice rains down, not fire. Which god has been angered?

Darkness falls, claiming each day.
Darkness falls, bringing out man’s lights.
Darkness falls, taking everything.

Dawn breaks, releasing warmth through the storm.

Snow Angel

The wind whispers promises too me. Promises of release from cold. Release from hurt. Release from her. Only it’s promising me in a voice I’m trying to forget.

The path I’m following faded into forest floor hours ago. Now, all that remains is white. White coating the ground. White swirling in my eyes. White lulling me towards sleep. The only thing that isn’t white is what I see when I give in to the whispers and start closing my eyes. Then, I see her. I see that look in her eyes at the end. The hurt and disbelief warring beneath green pools.

Uriel loomed.
Refusing me. Only her,
he said. Only her.

My body cries out for me to surrender to the cold. Her eyes keep pressing me forward. Maybe not to try and make things right. I think I gave that up when I Left. I think I’m just afraid. Afraid of falling into her eyes and being trapped forever. Lost in moments swallowed by time. That notion frightens me more than any eternal punishment any god could conjure up.

Remembered fall,
screaming wind, impact, my curse.
Feeling with no end.

Or maybe it doesn’t.

The chance to fuck things up somewhere new looms in the distance, behind white sheets. Find another table to play at. One with better odds. Another life to live. Another city. Eventually, someone else to touch. To love. Sometimes change is necessary. Sometimes love goes away. Or was never real. Or maybe that’s just my excuse for running. To hide from a life I killed.

Tombstone. Cigarette
ash instead of flowers. My
tribute to Uriel.

Warmth flows into my toes. So different from the cold. A dull burning comfort. So safe. Maybe just a short rest against a tree. A moment away from the white.

Teasing image.
Uriel beckoning.
Allowing me in.

I see her again. Only, the anger is gone. She’s smiling again. I have to smile back. Her arms seem so inviting. So warm. So comfortable. The world wavers, dancing between her warmth and the warmth of the snow, until the two sensations join. We hold one another tightly, lost in the white. Her eyes glitter, the only shot of color in my world. My fear fades and I fall into her eyes, escape the white. Accepting her punishment.

Uriel. Alone.
Cigarette ash falling from
untainted hand.

Another shadow arrives, takes the cigarette. Uriel speaks, whisper of death, “he finally let go.” The shadow nods, takes long puff, brushes ash across snow. Uriel bows head to the man and both fade away.