Angels

A
We think we’ve heard
Sibilant rustlings of folding wings
Doubt befuddles our hope
Faith’s certainties bemused by our rationalities
Oscillations of anxiety and desire
Turning between the two
We parade our glorious uncertainties
Desiring to be clad in our theologies
We wait with bated breath
As our tired philosophies collapse
And convictions fragment under aging’s glare
Sulphuric laughter of our stripping through cracks is heard
When mirrors draped in black
Hides our fissured nakedness
We wish through dark crevasses to hear
The silent waves of bending wings
We wish to hear
Angelic wings
Reverberating on tympanic drum

And there is silence

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badgerslabyrinth

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