Wounded angel

a poem about people meant to be angels

Sad wounded angel sitting on a chalky white bridge over all those cold steal buildings

The traffic is buzzing, people are tied to their phones and demons are screaming screaming putting

dirty thoughts in your heads, you think it is mental illness

There is a poison heart pounding, like cats jouncing just struggling to get tomorrow

An angel looks down sadly, holding this pain in a silver tear

Wounded angel crying for all this destruction, the chassis for all of this

these things we were born for

An angel is hitting the gym not to lose weight or gain muscle but to be

strong enough to pick up the world for a little while and protect it from demons

Yeah God can do it alone, but why not light up the world a little there, angels from God there

to say goodbye to the demons hanging at that place you go to

in the mirror where you are too skinny or too fat or you need that alcohol or that ciggerate

or that emptiness that buzzes buzzes and you sit in traffic to go to a white office

and sit there forgetting who you were born to be

all of us were meant to be angels

sitting on a bridge above that office smiling,

then leaping and flying across the orange red fire sky and burning heavenly fire

and destroying the demons that keep wounding all the angels

So I fight, so I fight, and go on, and go on

Because it is all I can do,

I sweat and bleed for this, I cry and leap for this, I train hard and smile and

study for this and I train my mind and my soul to do this fight

All these wounded angels, all these broken people broken to remedy

all of these broken fallen people

lighting up at God's Name

just because

that is the only thing to do, to fight and believe