An Angel of the Lord

   
   "An Angel of the Lord"
   
   Do they call you General Sherman, having contempt for scorched burning, when like with Lycanthropy, you are fighting for freedom and truth--or was he?
   Living in a sanitized world, purifying perpetually to maintain innocence and benevolence, and when you deny the shrew--she hates you, never to be tamed save by demons, always offering false testimony, yet Daniel admits the LIGHT.
   They, as accusers, are noise, trumpeting in the Illuminati of lies, in order to disrupt your contemplation of celibacy--not a punishment, yet a divine discipline.  They want you to get involved, mix it up, smear a bedazzled babe, light the wick of passion non-pure, yet you see the illumination of persecution, in order to inherit a mansion, with many fathers and mothers; plus, many brothers and sisters, all in a collective mesh of mystical mutual.  And that's why Timothy and me love cool Grandmas.  But they believe thugs pamper her and speak truly, yet Heston knows as the chimp rides the pony, and Soylent Green is to be avoided in fast-food joints, where iniquity is upon the toilet seat, and a washed hand is not enough, save through the grace of opening the door with a wet, sanitized wipe.  
   They lie about you, hunting your negative blood type, dismissing Joan of Arc's voices, as she was, having burned her to not get the DNA of a Saint's truth, when it has been spoken through Twain, never giving a damn about Tom Sawyer, only her, and they salaciously criticize, as they are of the prince of this world.
   Resist not evil--let it touch you, for if you have that portion of God, the light of the Holy Spirit within--when it touches you--it dies, and you are no longer labelled a liar, when their fibs are paramount, in order to obnoxiously accuse, and they are harlots visiting, yet their husbands sustain weirdly, defiled by a besmirched beauty, her not having beauty, but reptilian lips smelling circumstance.  Only the chosen know, and big mouths on the telephone are monkeys throwing poop at the zoo, so mischievous and malnourished by the labors of pure passion, them confessors giving water to the thirsty, and never mocking God with the false realm of reality, knowing . . .