The tips of his wings stained a crimson red,
the light drawn from his eyes with his final breath,
a loathsome look upon his shame filled face,
forgetting all his amazing grace.
he's fallen from the tips of heaven to the depths of hell,
the angel his face stained with an auburn glaze,
captured in the battle just lost,
his nobility failing at his own great cost.
they whisper in his ear, the superficial beings,
they speak so mellow yet there words be celestial,
they scrutinise him, tempting his weaknesses,
their ****** eyes divulge his very being.
"Come my son ill give you peace" his father calls from above,
at this his tepid and tedious ways at once are banished,
he takes his fathers effluent hand and he is made clean,
saved from the superfluous for all eternity.