Isn't it funny
How swirls and dots on a page
Can create so much meaning?

Every single morning
I wake up, get dressed, start my car,
And drive.

Every single morning
I pass the place where the house used to sit.
I remember when I was five years old;
when I still believed in fairy tales and princesses,
when I watched that house being consumed with flames.
I drive by and memories flash.
My mother gasping
The people crying
The dog barking.
A red house turned to ash and cemet before the trucks even arrived.
Every single morning I see the flames.

"No trespassing" says the sign.
No one has touched the place in 12 years.

This morning.
I saw the workmen.
Measuring and collecting data.
Unaware of the red house before.
Talking and pointing they make their plans.

Childhood memories suddenly covered
by wooden beams and work trucks.

His hands run through her hair
Their clothes are everywhere
Discarded in passion's haste
His hands meet her waist
A sigh of joy fills the room
He smells a breath of her perfume
Their lips part for a moment in time
He looks into her deep blue eyes
And as he gazes from above
He suddenly finds
*He has fallen in love

What if stars
Really are just holes to heaven

What if Angels
Have to watch their step

What if sometimes
An angel falls onto Earth
And is given new life, with us.

Because it seems to me
Some people are too beautiful to be human,
Some must be clumsy angels