Angels

A poem about angels.

Great golden mountain ranges 

Spilling past the silver seas 

Halos of the fallen angels 

Littering the ground beneath 

The vast expanse of Heaven 

Pure and good and full of greed 

We live atop the backs of demons 

Molded by wind and human hand 

Thickly poured, black across the ground 

Cracking in the light of the noon day sun 

Crooked horns of iron, steel 

Piercing through, standing tall 

Leading the way for world weary travelers

Pointing the way to hearth and home 

Darkness flows across the lands 

Racing and flying after the fleeing light 

Silencing the chaotic, as if the darkness itself

Was a blanket that muffled all of the noises of life and day 

The blackness only serving to highlight that which hides in brightness 

The eyes of the peoples of the world glowing cold as they face towards the east

Awaiting the dawn of day, to once again mask their nature 

Wings of steel and swords of lace 

The words of the fallen carries across the land as wind does 

Touching upon every broken halo 

Reaching all the way up to gates of heaven 

Dipping through the cracks and creeping down into the abyss 

Crawling through the forest line, grasping onto me 

I look towards the horizon, out across the vastness of space

To the place where the falling meet the fallen at the edge of existence

Where the flying and the falling cannot distinguish 

Are you me? Am I you? 

I reach out with one hand, and make a line of distinction

And when I hold out my palm

The Fallen Rise