some have entertained angels unawares, but others get this--seraphim crashing on your couch
(metaphorically of course; they wouldn't fit on a sofa) with their hundred hundred wings beating the air lazily; their beryllium eyes shut. "You should get a place," you may tell them over breakfast. "Not that you aren't always welcome; but don't you want somewhere to call your own?" But the seraphim merely blinks; eyes sparking; and goes back to coaxing the coffee maker not to burn your morning caffiene high
(they don't understand property you see; don't understand the concept of owning a piece of the dust--earth is humanity's birthright, and all else is god's)
(...yes even them; their wings, their eyes, the half-burnt coffee on their 7-dimensional tongue. You do not need to have a place of your own when you yourself are not your own, silly human)
(so the seraphim keep dragging themselves in at 2am, starlight caught in their feathers and whiskey on their breath--whispering ''are you up? are you up? the kingdom of god is at hand--come and kiss me,'' before collapsing back onto the sofa; wings fluttering in the angelic approximation of helpless giggles)
(...it turns out seraphim do indeed fit on the couch; with just enough room for one sleep-deprived human, waiting for the kingdom of god to arrive)
(metaphorically of course; they wouldn't fit on a sofa) with their hundred hundred wings beating the air lazily; their beryllium eyes shut. "You should get a place," you may tell them over breakfast. "Not that you aren't always welcome; but don't you want somewhere to call your own?" But the seraphim merely blinks; eyes sparking; and goes back to coaxing the coffee maker not to burn your morning caffiene high
(they don't understand property you see; don't understand the concept of owning a piece of the dust--earth is humanity's birthright, and all else is god's)
(...yes even them; their wings, their eyes, the half-burnt coffee on their 7-dimensional tongue. You do not need to have a place of your own when you yourself are not your own, silly human)
(so the seraphim keep dragging themselves in at 2am, starlight caught in their feathers and whiskey on their breath--whispering ''are you up? are you up? the kingdom of god is at hand--come and kiss me,'' before collapsing back onto the sofa; wings fluttering in the angelic approximation of helpless giggles)
(...it turns out seraphim do indeed fit on the couch; with just enough room for one sleep-deprived human, waiting for the kingdom of god to arrive)
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