Angels fall from the heavens, for the
belivers are no more, wings are but
ash on the floor.

They were held up high in their place
in heavens above, but we do not need to see
above to know what we love.

For love is not of things not seen, but
of our selfs and others family, they
fell from up high to the floor below.

Now they are us for ever more, we have
moved on from books wrote so long ago, now
just fiction for those to read and know.

Fallen angels walk among the crowd,
no longer blessed, now just another face
in the crowd.