Featured Image: Paulo Nicolello

They tell us to hold on

As if that ever stopped homes from washing away

From a rushing flood

Or stopped a plane

From crashing down to Earth

In a blaze of fire and fear.

But our wings were sawed-off

And we fell from the high Heavens

Not in a flurry of bright lights

And loud trumpets announcing our downfall.

No, we fell free falling head first

So silently no one even noticed

When we were gone.

Kicked out so swift and brutally

Even we lost our voices

And forgot to scream.

As if God took our voices 

As well as our wings.

But they call us Fallen Angels

Gaping and gasping

When they see the two bloody stumps

That used to be glorious wings.

As if there is beauty in our unspeakable sadness

Watching as if we were shattered diamonds in the light

Shining even while broken

So broken we pique their curiosity

And become muses where we are nothing

But miserable souls

Wandering wide-eyed and shell shocked

Waiting for God to finally reach His hand down

Parting the dark storm clouds

And lightning threatening to strike us down

To lift us up once again

And take us home

Bruised and damaged that we are,

Haunted shells 

They call Former Angels.