Cherubs we can not see

Cherubs faces etched in a stone plinth
ready to cry in a rain fueled mind
moss gathered on the cheeks of angels
Botticelli engraved, marbled to find.
Dry side against the rain scoured east
the back of the hand rubbed and imbibed
friction of forensics lighting the timber
persecuting the jurisdiction written subscribed.
An ornamental, committed to the wards
nurses and doctors caressing the cells
angels of non believers, hallowed the grave
tramping on meadows, orienteering the fells.
Clouds lined with the silk of distrust and grey
of dust powdered like rouge on the buttocks so spanked
a pure voice of echos singing in a storm
a leader of men gathered, divided, and flanked.
Heaven allows him to divide and beset
to gather amongst the underworld in a fire of lava and rock
the dearest of the family held hands and clenched
we looked towards the sky unbelieving, no longer the angels mock.
The cherubs sang in a sarcastic tone
and the blood gathered all around me
next decades will be better
we pronounced in nebula we can not see.