Angels and Demons

 Angels are made for flying, for their friends giving it all; 

no regards for limitations. Walking miles on lullabies, 

tireless in effort and without sorrow in their posture. 

Not holding back their hides, as the market encloses.

Demons are made for trotting, to scold the rules and gloom;

delinquent in nature, unquenched curiosity in its brightest: 

"I bloom for your sworn duty, to become a groom-interlude; 

may the dark forest entice you to try new ways of best!" 

Angels are bound to be steadfast, solemnly holding the Mass; 

shoulder to cry on and lion to roar laughter, dependable fortress.

The Camel, who gets through the needle, needless to say; 

without the pillow nor peasant going to war...

Demons are bound to be wicked, furious in their passion; 

compassionate lovers and inate insatiable undecover. 

Walking alone like the cat, who owned the mouse,

later eating the naivete, and the game on a mission.

What you shall be is up to you, but why should I choose -- 

Angel nor Demon, Darkness nor Light, let it be both; 

Going South through the True North -- Lancaster or York;

embarking on the Carneval of congest of courtiers and Jesters.