The tune filled all of their ears
But was not present in the air.
I called to my fair lady,
But she screamed it was not fair.

It clearly wasn’t your day,
You live in tomorrow because you have no today.
You live their nightmares:
“he lives the dream”
They say.

4, 6, 8, 10
Here we go again and again.
Break your neck dancing on your head,
Because your legs have fallen dead.

Butterflies in your stomach,
And you shot them all down.
Now it feels too heavy,
What are you doing? Get off the ground.

Angels are falling,
Machine guns in hand.
“It’s not right!” you cry.
They can shoot, but not stand.

Caught in the crossfire,
You are lulled to sleep.
You’re twisted,
Your lives have been listed.
Which one do you want to keep?
idek what this is supposed to be. It's so random and I don't expect it to be good.
I believe in angels,
Their wings of feathers white.
They glow almost golden,
In the morning light.

It's such a relief,
To see the halos on their heads.
Because no one looking at such a thing
Could ever wish that they were dead.

The rays, when they hit you,
It reminds you why you're here.
They put a pillow under your head
And wipe away your tears.

I believe in angels,
They come to me at night.
They sit by me while I rock myself,
And hold onto the bottle tight.

Their voices are only whispers,
Takes my breath away to hear.
I try to curl up on their shoulders,
But they always disappear.
02:09 An angel’s manicure taps at my window
14:09 I realize I’ve turned invisible, all is pointless
02:00 I pull out a big bottle, a fistfull of angels rests in my other hand
14:00 I cry out into the crowd for help over and over, screams silent as a song
01:40 Words run all over the page like an ant army, the paper is no longer dry
13:40 I can pretend to be okay for a little while longer as long as I don’t think
01:23 Sleep has become a feather in Chicago fog, as evasive as Love, Truth
13:23 All I can think about is sleep, my mind slipping into a hopeless abyss
02:09 An angel’s manicure taps at my window
02:10 My nightingale still sings to me
This poem has a lot of significance to me, so I'd appreciate it if you checked out the full version here:
Osal Mar 13
The angel himself throws an arrow to a heart
Turning it impossible to draw them apart
As love will burst out and the man falls in love
To the dimpled red cheek, now shareth one heart

Inspired by his wonders he crafts his work
He shoots them with a bow, the greatest job perk
He taketh a man and maketh a Romeo
He taketh a maiden and maketh his wife
He strengthens his power and a feather shall fall
From the wings that shall keep him in the heaven so tall

He finishes his chore and flies back home
As his feathers be torn and his heart be alone
He draws his last arrow and in hope for his love
Drives it through, his loving good heart

As it soon reaches his humble hung heart
His blood drives him cooler and to the rivers it flowed
As his eyes are shut and time grows old
Forever his body in the heavens be cold.

Our appearance on the outside cannot be used as a decisive factor in terms of judging the man who we hide inside. The man who has the most beautiful eyes has cried the most and the man who laughs most the Time weeps at home. The cupid being the protagonist of this work it is elaborated that he may work for others and make other fall in love but die alone at the end by the expense of his own Arrow. Do not judge a man by his appearance but his character and his chore
BC Jaime Mar 7
he was a tambourine
competing with the guitar,
and drums

In the orchestra
he was the conductor's baton
drowned out by the oboe

When he went solo
he was a harp
graceful, delicate
his strings plucked
by angels
© BC Jaime 2018 || IG: @b.c.Jaime

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit
Everyone always asks for their guardian angels to do their best on us
Everyone always wants the best to happen for ourselves
Why do I want my guardian angel to let their guard down?
Why do I want my demons to consume me like once before?
My demons were my comfort zone before they were almost destroyed by the angels
But they weren't 100% destroyed
Alison Ilene Mar 2
Looking for something to fulfill
                                                        T­ime to kill
                    Ghastly puppy mill
                                                       Not the blue pill
Up for debate. -Brooke Alison Ilene Anselment copying my shit is not worth your life
Apoorva Mar 2
I'm so sick of doubt
The miserable life
That we all lead
And the lies
That we feed
Our children with
Same old story
Everyday and every night
Chained to our jobs
We are not free
From our own thoughts
Which leads nowhere
But Wow.
I'm so happy
Cause I know the truth
And the wise words
Of prophets and saints
That someday
This will end
In my grave
I'll be at peace
And only then
I will be free
And I will forever be
In your memory
In your memory.
Izzy Daltry Feb 28
How many angels fit on the point of a needle?
Heaven and Evil are obsolete;
You type them in and press delete.
The ghost in the machine stares at the screen from the other side.
Who are we to say that Deeper Blue was Undivine?

Can an angel exist in both one place and another at the same time?
Doesn't everything now though, online?
Angels are waves and angels in wires,
They no longer sing in heavenly choirs.
I long to be the crow that cries
And sits upon the telegraph lines
With angels running through his bones and through his sighs.

Can you see angels?
Sometimes we feel them when we touch.
You long to transcend your existence for theirs but when you return,
If you return,
Will this be enough?
How does your lover's embrace compare to an electric shock?

Are angels even real?
To that I ask you this:
Is there anything left that truly exists?
In one electric consciousness the divines observe
Our post-physical, post-political, post-peripheral metareality
Tainted by fallacy
And, oblivious to the angels surrounding me
I stare at the screen
And the ghost in the machine stares back from the other side.
The questions scientists used to ask about angels, we now ask about electrons. Perhaps metaphysics should not be considered a dead science.
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