Voice

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The angel sits silent reading

the writings of ancient foes

Defeated

All of the flood blood

and agony

are gone in a wave of self-pity

Crying her only escape

voices of ones once strong

dead and gone

In pieces by the river of blood

Flowing from the wounds

in their hands

and feet and sides

Water is her quest

water to heal

water you cannot find

but it is there

it can only be given

if only she would ask

it is easily lost refused

almost wanting to be in her life

if only she had asked

It is wonderful

it will wash her wounds and make her complete

happy in winter

perfected in summer

but love takes two

the angel and it

Would she have been true

It would have been . . .

never leave

whatever it is me

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