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By Stephen Date: 2001 Nov 07 Comment on this Work [[2001.11.07.05.29.21637]] |
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when we were young we liked to think angels grew on trees... they branched out among us, to aura away things that harmed us they gave us fresh smelling shade, stolen away from noon amber rays we took of them advantage, armored veins of protection their sweet sweet lives meant to be so long, yet always ending short upon us we can, do, bare witness to this cycle rendering, frozen in the haste of our lives green peace surrendering, surrender to a dark brown flag and again must we adapt for anti-comfort season watching our subterfuge take away the beautiful-- crisp and delicate as they fall as we walk, as we stroll crushed and damper as they shelter as we weave, as we falter through a battlefield forest of suffocating Giving Trees where flaming mighty swords of heaven lay skinny and bare, pointed all above and fallen angels lay strung out over the scattered forsaken landscape, dead all below |