Walking through these pages
These writs that tell a story fairly unknown
Cutting through time zones and high plains
Landing on firm soil, gazing up at blue skies
Searching high for confirmation that angels do fly
In my dreams while traversing the seas
They would swoop down low on coloured wings
Cradling the children that fell through the night
They would erase the weariness the pain and their plight
Seeking to restore life after a lunatic’s vaulted blight
In wakeful hours as I scroll through the screens
I realise my dreams materialise, just not as I fantasise
These angels they look eerily like me with their absent wings
Suddenly a path is carved out wildly divergent to what’s passed
And the chills from my travels are wiped out at last
~SM © 2017
Words Become Me 