Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2015
The angels, with their folded wings
walk on silent ground

They know not whether
to weep,
or wield their sighing harps.

It seems like hearts are stones,
or jewels would they be?

Precious gems, maybe.

Of different hues,
with scattered light.

Encrusted, unpolished
by time and tears,
by things spoken and not. ...

The angels, moving forward--
with their timid halos
and shorn heads-
their soles
touching sacred ground.
Disyembre, 2013
raen
Written by
raen
Please log in to view and add comments on poems