The Winged

 

My shoulders carry a gentle-downy burden

enclosed and curled up i seem to nest

spread out and straight I seem to float

the light above I cannot shut out

warmth encloses me all around

yet no body holds me

as I sigh and stand to glide

I realize sleep is not for the winged…

imperfect angel

i’m watched over by an imperfect angel

what makes him human?
what makes him clay?

what makes him stay?

there are no wings
to be gained

there are no sins
to be shunned

there are no fallen
to be saved

what makes him stay?

i know
it is i
who stands in his way

and yet
i silently hope

for
another
day…