After Eric’s helpful comments on my last post, I was able to revise this poem into another draft.  Here is the result.  Again, the formatting of the words is messed up, so I am not entirely pleased with the presentation, but here it is.

A Prayer

Gabriel and Michael exchanged

worried looks.

The cherubim blushed and

Bent ruffled plumage

Across their hundred busy eyes,

As the Son’s cry echoed, shrill

And ungainly, across the heavens.

They braced themselves for the mighty

Reply but heard

Nothing.

At last a reticent Gabriel flew

To the oaken door of the lapis room

Where the Father sat slumped

On a three-legged stool,

Gripping the world in this right hand

And a bottle of Laphroaig in his left.

A long, wilted sigh came from the

Linen curtains which rippled

Behind the silver throne as the Spirit

Sulked.

The Father did not even

Look up.  “I heard,” was all.

Gabriel left as quietly

As he had come.

But as Gabriel shut the door,

The seraphim began to snort and

Paw the clouds, furiously pumping their

Wings

like hummingbirds that do not burn,

And the hundred eyes flit

Dizzily over the earth,

Searching for any small

Something.

But there was

Nothing

save a short, raspy cough as

God shrugged and gave up

His spirit.