you make me live

ethereal, yes, but not really.

white wings meet black,

when apples fell from trees like the new rain.

unicorns escaped, but Christ could not,

they stood their place and watched humanity rot.

the oysters in Rome, or Hamlet at the Globe

could never deter the two

from which heaven had bode.

feet burned to a crisp,

like the souls from his home,

from a church for his beloved,

who praised an empty throne.

cocoa and novels stacked neatly within

a shop that burned down,

no angel to be found,

and the deeply worn demon is now wearing thin.

royalty blares from an old timey car,

going too fast for comfort, though fire is far

from the worst thing to happen in that damned vehicle;

there was heartache and heartbreak for decades to go,

a little fire never hurt her, her driver is from down below.

so he sped down the freeway to a place he should avoid,

his whole body tells him stop, but his conscience tells him go.

i'll never speak to you again,

the world is in your hands,

Armaggedon is among us,

and before Satan he stands.

moments later all is fine,

and Dog is still a dog,

there's still a fiesty feminist,

and the witch has kissed her frog.

heaven calls their angel for his death by means of fire,

and hell drags down their demon to suffuse in holy water.

though, they are smart, and turn away,

their better halves come out to play;

an angel in the blackest robes,

synonymous of sandy groves.

a demon in the poshest white

a true testament of his battle in life.

there is no heaven or god in sight,

the two cosmic beings beginning their lives.

the end has passed and the start has come,

a young boy in a garden, whom the world is from.

the story is over, though the end didn't end,

a new page being written for the idiots to mend.

their new lives are starting,

no war to be won,

ineffable means nothing

when your hearts beat as one.