The Art of Words


Angel, Fallen- © D. Brown

He lost his wings


Virgin caught, stripped bare
and though his back still glows, he's torn
his back stripes with trickles of crimson


drops of heaven fall from a sad eye
discarded in sweet misery


hair curled with stands of gold wilt
skin once flushed with the likeness of Him now pale


That which was his spirals into the night sky
into a sorrowful dream now pilfered
it swirls


What remains is this fallen angel
in a cold, cold world.

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