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Far up in the skies, lay the air of the ancients, free in its royal sunlight.
But soon, a wrath of scorched wings rise in the fray...
Climbing the atmosphere, its teeth risen in black sheath.
Like a shooting star, an angel falls to meet them in dance.
The anger blazes across the horizon, as the demon rears its fangs...
The angel soon stands like a fortress. It's renown carried by the ascended clouds above...
Within a shallow breath, the angel slashed with might, shattering the amethyst firmament above.
Soon laid to rest, the vexation now in another age of slumber...
Grace then soars in flight, shining down on the grieving soil...
His wings were ready, but our hearts were not.
Shared 2 months ago
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