by Nick Gisburne
The angels of the afterlife agree
They want a bigger cut of Heaven’s bliss,
But Odin, in the shade of Asgard’s tree,
Reminds them of the blistering abyss.
He’s only middle management of course;
The angels try to take it to the top.
With all the frosty fury of the Norse,
He gives a one-eyed wink towards the drop.
Insisting only one true god will do,
They make their claim in triplicate, in blood,
But meet with Death, the big man’s number two,
Who started reaping long before the Flood.
Angelic halos shatter in despair.
The myth who made their wings was never there.
