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.