I sit adjacent to my window
and eavesdrop on the birds singing
as the Angels' morning tears
descend upon the Earth.
Dark clouds dance in the skies
as his children awaken
from their fields of imagination.
So Early in the morning
life which was so serene
is now an enthusiastic interruption
within his artistic regulation.
The Angels inhale their
sorrow as their tears
continue to fall
my hands keep writing
their story.
My ears are filled
with words allowing
my eyes to interpret their language
My muscles twinge for their
pain that consumes them.
And my heart is frightened
by what the Angels' have to reveal.
And my mind believes the Angels'
because, my thoughts are
incapable to feel.
