Startled
He had the look of seraphs in distress,
The look of angels tortured not in hell
But trapped in heaven trying to suppress
His soul. His solemn beauty might compel
Even divinity to free him from
His wingless sentence, though maybe a god
Can’t stand the competition that might come
From breathing masculinity as flawed
As this one in his character despite
Harsh beauty. His tormenting comes from mind
Distorted by his hatred of the white
Desires contrived in him to make him blind.
A purity that seized him in the dark
Is tempting him. His blackest need is stark.