Sometimes Angels give up their wings to live among us.
Perhaps they envy life among us dirt preferring green grass, over gold streets.
I know an Angel
and even with out her forfeited feathered phalanges she floats into a room she’s super…
like the super soft naps on her crown
she’s a queen.
Forsakes her wings but hides her halo in her smile.
Heaven hovers in her words.
She encourages me with just a hello .
Her hugs warm me from the inside out.
But The problem with pure personalities preferring to be people playing in the dirt
is that the soil our souls sit in has been corrupted,
subjected to frailties since the fall.
If we’re not fighting our flesh
it’s fighting us,
all out war!
The Geneva Convention should consider cancer a war crime.
A weapon of mass destruction .
The only counter attacks we have poisons the very ground we’re trying to take back.
Chemo causes the crowns of kings and queens to crack and crumble.
Our earth has low self esteem
unable to accept better.
We have a tendency to reject the best.
Ask the Lamb and the Lion of Judah.
Maybe her body is rejecting her,
is too good
This poem was written a few years ago for a friend fighting cancer. She won that war!! Now another friend needs these words.