Clay angels
It has been told many times
That we are the clay creations of God
But a perfect and pristine angel
I am not
My wings are misshapen
My hands are broken
My halo is missing
And my head is chipped
Though what is this but the signs of age?
The well-loved, well cared for antique
which stays on a windowsill collecting dust
it is only the untouched, the unemotional, the u experienced
who stay unscathed in the end
it is those who stand in a museum, behind glass
detached from the world are those who are pristine
N.F.McGee
29/8/2019
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of a Blind Girl
PoetryThis a complete collection of the poetry which I have written over my lifetime. I hope that you enjoy them!
