Sickly Angels
If you would, my love, if you would
Just listen to their bare feet on the Summer’s
Burning asphalt: God’s first and last unfinished symphony.
Old, sickly, forgotten angels, dying
With each silent morning,
With each fallen cherry tree.
If you would, my love, if you would,
Just listen to their complaints
About the Earth and its humans.
They too are strangers, just like us, aimlessly
Flying from galaxy to galaxy,
From empty heart to empty heart.
Old, sickly, forgotten angels, dying:
Dismissed, unfulfilled, unknown.
If you would my love, if you would,
Just lend them your ears, your shoulders,
Caress their stumped and blistered wings.
Don’t despise them for their missing teeth,
(Bake them my favorite cinnamon apple pie),
Ask them about the Golden City, how was it
Living in the sky?
Are they scared of heights?
Afraid of people’s uninspired choices?
If you would, my love, if you would,
Keep their falling as a secret,
Between you and I.
Others need not know how
We’re running short of angels.
