Angels
are messengers
of irrational hope
that grows through the cracks in our certainties.
That tenacious (irrational) insistence of life,
The gaps between flagstones are where we breathe
(Are we weeds? Are we fungi?)
Are we angels, or do we look to angels
To trouble and console us
bring solace and holy (wholly profane) unsettling?
The angelic way of (not) knowing
where we communicate to connect, challenge, absolve, transform
not to label, not to prove, not to establish
where we open our collective wings wider and wider
and liberated we soar
...
unless we take an arrow.
There are many arrows.
Despite our best intention suffering remains
and struggle
and dare we say it...even death.
YOU ARE READING
Sweeping Winds and Rainbow Beginnings
PoetryThese are a few of my poems. I would prefer to take my time and try to sort the better ones out from the rubbish so it might take me a while to collect. I hope you can stop by and enjoy a poem or several. In poetry (good or bad) we express something...
