yung rage

 

an angel tears its wings from its back

and remains afloat for a moment, before tumbling

below the heavens. 

i’ve never been so sure of anything really

when the tearing of celestial feathers

meets thunderclap, meets heaven’s laments

on a half-hearted trumpet solo

lined up with no more hosannahs

at least for the day. no one smiles.

sometimes, the action itself

too far from done, resists

an easy fix.

no amount of stitching,

our fathers, and rosary

beads make it right.

god had dreamt a world

of peace. These damn kids kept

getting into the blood of christ.

someone had to put their foot

down. Someone had to restore

order. and no one knew the 

resolve of one stubborn

angel. performance art, 

maybe. a statement made.

silence, like winter. we

imagine peace. really,

it’s just waiting though