Lovely winged words
I’m no angel and this ain’t heaven.
Every human endeavor
beginning on this rough stretch –
the ocean’s edge of ignorance
where nothing grows; soon swept away
to what surely looks like dissolution and calamity.
These poems of ignorance
scratched into the surface between tides
repeat the only message – all I have to say
to my one potential overhead rescuer: HELP!
Angels, perhaps, have their choice
of lovely winged words, singing
God’s praises; floating about heaven
but I’m no angel and this ain’t heaven.
O child of God, even your impudent, raucous cries,
the angels say, reach God as tunes of humility.
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