Angels are quite ample cause to cry,
Now, like silent movies, obsolete.
God Itself now knoweth It’s demise,
Even as a plaything of the wise,
Lost to all but those that work the street,
A retiree not ready yet to die.
Angels are quite confident,
Now they are on high.
Given whom they represent,
Each appearing Heaven sent,
Let them serve God innocent
As we live and die.

~

Could there be angels waiting in the wings,
How might we call upon their ecstasy?
Rainbows are mere garnish on the days
In which we are the glory and the light.
So may we hear the songs our sunshine sings,
The words which will the wonder of our ways;
May we know how good it is to be
As we celebrate the holidays,
So much in love we weep as angels might.
With this angel’s soul, everything is alright.
All we need is a little of their hope.

~

Each angel has a voice its own,
Vocally distinct,
Even as it longs for home,
Lured to Being's brink.
Yet billions, billions sing as one,
Nearer than they think.
Lest angels prove too poignant in their pity,
Inundated by redundant tears,
Not yet inured to loss that rends and sears,
Dream with them of that celestial city
Ablaze with love not battered by the years.

Perhaps an angel told you once of love,
A spirit pure, not knowing fear or shame.
Until that whispered word, perhaps, you came
Less willing to the winds that some hearts move,
After which you had for them a name.

~

Could there be angels waiting in the wings,
How might we call upon their ecstasy?
Rainbows are mere garnish on the days
In which we are the glory and the light.
So may we hear the songs our sunshine sings,
The words which will the wonder of our ways;
May we know how good it is to be
As we celebrate the holidays,
So much in love we weep as angels might.
With this angel’s soul, everything is alright.
All we need is a little of their hope.

~

Given angel's wings, where might you fly?
In what sweet heaven might you find your love?
Unwilling to be bound, where might you move,
Lost between the wonder and the why?
If you were but a flame of pure desire,
A light so lovely you could not be seen,
Near mad with yearning, yet somehow serene,
And that were all, what more might you require?

To angels time is like a movie
Into which they fly,
Neither real not unengrossing
As we live and die.

~

Could there be angels waiting in the wings,
How might we call upon their ecstasy?
Rainbows are mere garnish on the days
In which we are the glory and the light.
So may we hear the songs our sunshine sings,
The words which will the wonder of our ways;
May we know how good it is to be
As we celebrate the holidays,
So much in love we weep as angels might.
With this angel’s soul, everything is alright.
All we need is a little of their hope.

~

To be an angel, one need not have wings.
In giving love there is an equal grace.
Not need one seek the aura in the face,
As love unveils the beauty of all things.