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The Wondrous Glory of the One Winged Angel

Half Angel, Half Demon

By Michael GrubePublished 5 years ago 3 min read
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2010

Fallen from grace for the sins of man,

This angel defied all heavenly plan.

Cursed, forever, to walk the earth;

Never to return to her place of birth.

Wondering why things happened to be

The way they were, and if she could see.

A way to overcome the sins committed.

To reclaim her angelic status, acquitted.

Wandering to and fro' from city to city;

Seeking from mortal man some kind of pity;

Helping those who could not help themselves;

Asking herself if it was worth this hell.

Stepping out of the immortal realm.

Her feet shod with golden sandals.

Soiled first by the first of man.

Disgust wrenching every part of her being.

A new feeling down in her core.

Guilt, the feeling plaguing all of man.

"Is this what I traded glory for?"

A question in the minds of all those fallen.

"I have given so much away, lost, vanquished.

Never to return again to comfort me;

To taste this mortal flesh, feelings, and states.

Do I Attempt to reclaim redemption; to seek

Out the penance I must pay to reach heaven?

Deciding to live with the decision made,

I trudge into the desert of lost souls.

This is merely a place of thought and reflection.

Many do not survive past this obstacle.

Walking through this desert I take in

All of the wondrous and demented scenes.

Thousands of men and angels contemplating,

Whether or not their past life is worth saving.

The one, good and positive contemplation

I can derive is the fact that I am not alone.

I need to find a way to escape this madness.

Whether it by some alternative means,

Or by taking the life I so violently contended.

Miles upon miles I walk on for eternity.

Contemplating the time when journey, or life,

Will end. The time draws closer. I am losing

The strength and power of will to move on.

My thoughts have changed from superficial

To why I have been placed in this barren land?

Just to consider my state and sins seems simple.

No, it must be for atonement, here to repent.

For sins wrought in heaven were forgiven

In a glorious temple layered in gold and silver.

The dryness of the soul, a wanting for wanting.

I must be here not to contemplate on before,

But rather to ponder what lies beyond.

Upon these thoughts I am captured away

From this desolate, flesh tearing, storm;

To a place filled with mortals flesh, sin.

Another place of thought? No, this time, action.

I must be here to prove my worth.

Everything I have in myself; I offer.

All to be trampled under feet of selfish men.

Spat and slapped on my face by the ungrateful!"

My eyes tear to heaven my charity abused.

"How can love prosper in such a place?

When helping hands are spitefully cast down,

And good will and charity have become evil.

What more can good spirits accomplish?"

Wandering from city to city helping souls,

My help is tarnished by my fallen state.

Wayfarers will not heed my sayings,

Trying to save their souls from death.

This is the curse for my greed filled mind.

I will never leave this world of man.

Cursed forever to help these helpless.

Only, never having the satisfaction.

To be spat and slapped on for generosity.

Doomed forever by my own kindness,

And damned for eternity to repeat it!

So the glory of the one winged angel

Is to never again save a living soul.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Michael Grube

I am 36 years old, an Army veteran, and officially divorced. I have been writing since i was young and have always been told that I have a knack for it. I've tried my writing a few novels, but my heart lies within poetry and journalism.

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