These Dark Angels... Poem by DM W

O these dark angels offer their forbidden fruits
For reduced prices on ' freedom's' vast market place.
It is merely a matter of finding one that suits
A particular client's sordid needs and tastes.
Meanwhile, Love lies bleeding: a precious rose cut down
By its own thorns. A stark silence pervades this world
Of cut- price souvenirs: where now the only sound
That can be heard is the crashing of the absurd
And the garish: as vain image courts vulgar word.
Meanwhile, the bold prophets of Light cannot be heard.
Life seems to be flooded by dreadful, endless night.
And no - one can work out who's wrong and who is right.