I dream of angels
Blinding brilliance,
A piercing innocence
And wings that leave you in awe.
That's how It always was in my dream.

The heavens would open up with the blare of a million trumpets.
They always did like to make an entrance.
Descending onto this realm like every shooting star you missed as a child.
So many wishes could be made in this moment, but alas.
We are frozen in the sight of perfection.
Ashamed of our own reflection.

I often wonder if it's a sin to want to be one.
We're not perfect. We never can be.
Instead, we house our impurities.
Nurture them, let them thrive.
We're overcome with all things wrong
We can only try to be similar
But who likes similar compared to the real thing?