I speak of angels that fall when I call them from the clouds arrows and flowers and smiles shower down as I call them with orders to enlighten my words and power through verse in shining recitals I converse. I speak of angels often as friends fire and shout and scream about the injustice and hideous groundswell of hateful distrusting of humanity’s suffering masses living in earthly locked fortresses and castles and huts from disasters that are never ending. I speak of angels to soothe and caress and serenade the souls of lost and dis-heartened people forgotten of their power and purpose where fear rides recklessly on flesh bone and marrow spewing nonsense about division-based camaraderie and loose-lipped debauchery. I speak of angels to ground me in heaven and load-up the world with a love-debt from burden a man a woman an animal calling in their blessings to mend the story to fit the end scenes of told glory and folklorey the shared tales that heal wounds in a collective allegory. I speak of angels to protect me with love and light and eternal life flowing the kisses of sunshine that rest on my bed slung by birds singing pitches of fits that ring the days light in rainbows in flight to catch the lyric of poets who rhyme and fill hearts with fevered delight.
©Jay Mora-Shihadeh
Photo by Luigi Boccardo on Unsplash
