On a rock, an angel sits.
Moonlit night around him fits.
Staring at the lows and highs,
in the glow, the angel sighs.

In his eyes, a twinkling star.
Flowing down it falls not far.
Angel's pearl it lights the flame,
but his wings it seems to maim.

Gleaming shield, of light so pure.
For his scars there is no cure.
Armor made of holiness,
won't fend off his loneliness.

Although every gift, it's clear,
is both a smile and a tear.
Mankind's pain, his load's a blight,
still without the gift of flight.

written on: 9-12-2003

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